


Two-Way Mirror

by CaptainSwank



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Breathplay, Corruption, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Praise, Seduction, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24799105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSwank/pseuds/CaptainSwank
Summary: Elias checks in on his potential future Head Archivist to learn a little more about him.He finds him in a compromising position.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 348
Kudos: 492





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to try my hand at more, uh. Accessible JE. Tagged non-con for mind-diddling. Pre-Archivist Jon! And if you dig it, maybe it'll go somewhere...?

The lights are off, the doors are locked, and everyone but the Institute’s security guards have gone home for the day. Elias Bouchard sits as alone as he is able in his office, and he sends the sneaking tendrils of his consciousness out to find a free pair of eyes in the flat of Jonathan Sims, Researcher.

The first perspective into which he sinks fails to find Jon within its gaze. It is clear, however, that he is at home. Elias can hear the soft susurrations of fabric on fabric, the whisper of a hitched breath, the slick sound of skin on skin. Now, Elias’s original plan was to continue his ongoing evaluation of Jon this evening; to watch and assess his suitability for his new and very crucial role. But back in his body he raises an eyebrow and makes a soft sound of surprise. 

_ Ah. This will be interesting _ .

He slips out of the eyes of an extra on the cover of a DVD on early nineteenth century naval warfare that was given to Jon as a gift, which he will most likely never watch. He settles instead into the intense gaze of the author of a slim volume on chess strategy that lies half-read on Jon’s tidy nightstand. He is rewarded with a  _ much _ better view.

Jon is lying back in bed, his body language open and easy in a way that he would never display at work, his pyjamas so starkly different from his prim and proper work attire. He’s not yet totally languid, though-- Elias notices that even in this Jon’s body and mind remain somewhat  _ clenched _ , what little muscle he has flexing, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Elias allows himself a soft sound of amusement as he enters Jon’s mind to find out  _ exactly _ what it is that has him gripping and pulling at his cock in such a rigid fashion. 

Not a great deal it would seem, to Elias’s mild surprise. Jon makes a small sound of frustration as if in confirmation, and Elias watches with interest as Jon seems to flip distractedly through an internal catalogue of past fantasies, none of them appearing to be sufficiently stimulating. And any sustained thought is disrupted by a sort of background hum of annoyance that the demands of his body are such that they occasionally require these acts for their upkeep. 

Jon is not a man who likes to be in thrall to the demands of his body.

Now that won’t do, Elias decides. They are pragmatic men, Elias knows, but one of the many reasons he will continue to deny the End its satisfaction is that life has proven time and time again to be fundamentally  _ fun _ . Surely Jon deserves to understand this. But more than anything, Elias sees a wonderful opportunity to forge a different sort of bond here, one that will undergird and strengthen the divine chain that will forever bind Jon to him. So he slides inside Jon’s mind to see what he can use. 

He begins with their initial interaction: the interview wherein Elias first drank in all the perfect parts of Jon for what they were about to undertake together. He didn’t even need to violate his thoughts to see the superficial suggestions that Jon might be the one. There was enthusiasm for their apparent project tempered with profound insecurity; a desire to be useful drowned in pretension and in pedantry; and a malleability manifesting as curiosity that made him ideal for molding into Elias’s vital tool. 

Reaching inside of Jon and seeing the spider’s kiss upon him was just the icing on a truly enticing cake.

And what of Jon’s initial assessment of Elias? Was there anything he found delicious, irresistible about him?  _ Hm _ . Elias moves on to other interactions between them, to job training, to staff meetings, to encounters in the break room that Jon had thought had happened by chance. What did Jon think of him, how was he seen?

Now it’s not exactly that Elias is  _ surprised _ that he cannot locate any explicit fantasies inside of Jon wherein he plays the starring role. It may be true that when he dips inside of Tim, he finds impressively athletic and increasingly acrobatic images of the two (or more!) of them within his mind. And when he rifles through the haphazard shelving of Martin’s veritable internal  _ library _ of eroticism, well. While Elias has been alive for a very, very,  _ very  _ long time, he must admit that  _ that  _ particular journey was an education in and of itself. But unlike the rest of his staff, Jon’s mind seems strangely empty of erotic imaginings where Elias is present.

But --  _ ah _ \-- that’s not quite right, is it? Perhaps he needs to reassess the memories and images and possibilities that he  _ does  _ find inside Jon’s mind. Because he  _ is  _ there, he is present, and in very interesting scenes indeed. 

Elias begins to smile.

Jon, however, remains wound tight despite the loose splay of his legs. He continues to pull at his cock, but it is clear to Elias that he’s failing to get anywhere, really. And so he gently, carefully slips into Jon a suggestion that might assist him here, one that just might organically arise at a time like this. He gifts Jon with an image of himself, with a warm hand on Jon’s shoulder, smiling down at him and telling him how  _ well  _ he did. How admirable his work on the Xiao case was, how thorough his research. Jon makes a little sound of surprise at the intrusion of the thought, but he doesn’t question it. Elias slowly lets out the breath he didn’t realize that he was holding, and he leans back in his chair to see what Jon will do.

And, having not yet disappointed him, Jon  _ does.  _ Elias watches the seed he planted deep in Jon start to grow as he works with the situation with which he has been provided. Jon eases himself into a narrative: Elias coming up behind him at the Institute, leaning down to whisper more soft praise into his ear. Resting his hand on Jon’s forearm while he bends forward to examine what Jon is working on on his computer. Complimenting his knowledge and his expertise on the details of the case. 

“ _ God _ ,” Jon whispers desperately, and Elias feels his thighs clench under his desk back in his office. While it’s most certainly the wrong god to whom Jon calls out, it might as well be Elias’s, here and now. It might as well be a prayer for benediction in this intimate act of Watching and being Seen. 

And Elias continues to watch.

What he finds fascinating about Jon is that on the one hand, he is raw and open and vulnerable in the way he trembles as he chases his pleasure. But on the other, there’s still a hot pulse of guilt and shame in him as he touches himself, as if someone is watching and evaluating and judging. But Jon cannot know that someone  _ is _ . Those endlessly exciting contradictions and all his lovely little fears have Elias reaching for his collar. When he hears Jon moan, he loosens his tie. 

While he watches Jon touch himself, Elias takes a moment to identify and catalogue the other details of the scene: the smell of Jon’s economical, functional soap on his skin that’s damp from his shower and his exertion. The feel of the big, old t-shirt and the soft, worn boxers from which he’s pulled his prick. The warmth of the room that had been heated by the long summer day. He feels a quickening from somewhere deep and fundamental inside him and he smiles. It must be the approval of his god, further proof to him that he has selected his new Archivist well. 

Soon enough the idea planted inside of him blooms, and Jon has discarded the idea of following any kind of coherent plotline for this. His hand moves faster while he immerses himself in sensation instead. Elias leans forward at his desk, his hands tightly gripping its edge. Jon is thinking about the smell of his cologne when he passes him in the hall. For some reason, he’s thinking about the rhythmic ticking of the clock in Elias’s office. Its steady beat is oddly comforting to him, Elias sees. It helps him focus and recentre and breathe. And he thinks of Elias’s voice: how Jon feels like it slides under his skin and into his bones sometimes when it goes low and soft. Elias inhales sharply. He can feel that Jon is close.

So he changes his perspective one final time, and pushes his consciousness into Jon. He settles comfortably behind his eyes and can’t suppress the full-body shiver that comes of pressing so close against Jon’s pleasure. It’s wonderful to be here, inside of him like this, seeing flashes of his headboard and his ceiling when Jon’s eyes roll back. Elias feels a particular shock of delight when Jon whimpers and his eyes turn to his windows and his door, as if someone might burst in and catch him. Elias decides not to check if Jon’s always like this, if he’s constantly on guard from the fear of discovery when he pleasures himself, or if he really does feel Elias’s eyes. He’ll save it for later as a lovely little surprise to himself. 

Soon enough he sees Jon’s arm reach for his nightstand and grab a handful of tissues. Jon manages one final thought, imagining Elias’s fingers light on the back of his neck, and Elias can’t hold back a gasp of his own while they watch Jon’s cock pulse together, as Jon makes sure to catch the evidence of his climax. His head falls back against his pillow, and the stark emptiness of Jon’s ceiling may not be interesting, but his similar blank state of his mind  _ is _ . But Jon doesn’t float in it for long; he returns to himself and blinks slowly a few times. Elias feels his thoughts accelerate in real time, as he wonders where  _ that  _ came from, why it felt so good this time, how he never noticed these feelings before, if he’ll be able to comport himself in a professional fashion come morning. Mostly, he’s glad that nobody will  _ ever _ know that he did that. 

Elias smiles, and returns to himself.

As he sits back at his desk he steeples his fingers and he thinks about the myriad ways in which he will escalate these little events in the future. He thinks about the way Jon will redden and scowl and try and avert his gaze at work tomorrow. He thinks about how Jon will not be able to do so; how he will not resist the eye contact upon which Elias will insist. And he lifts a hand to obscure the small smile upon his face, even though there is nobody around to see it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events escalate.

It’s after hours and the rest of the Archive staff have long since left for the day. Jon’s still around, though, because Elias -- generous man that he is -- has been kind enough to assign Jon some additional,  _ time-sensitive  _ research. He wants it on his desk by tomorrow morning, Jon was told, but it would’ve been nice to have been made aware of this  _ before lunch _ . Jon finds himself getting increasingly worked up over the inconvenience. There’s just something profoundly irritating about the disruption or alteration of plans. Though it is true that all this extra work is taking him away from a thrilling evening of… maybe finally watching that documentary he had said he’d get around to?  _ Well.  _ Perhaps it’s not the end of the world.

In fact, there’s a part of him that doesn’t necessarily resent this intrusion into his quiet little routine. That part of him is curious, in fact, about why he was the one singled out for not only  _ this  _ additional task, but all the ones that preceded it. Now, obviously it’s because the quality of his research and his attention to detail far outstrips that of his colleagues. But if Elias has noticed this so quickly, it’s entirely possible that he’s a more observant man than Jon had initially thought. He lets his mind linger on Elias as he carefully cuts out a newspaper clipping about a young woman's disappearance during a cave dive while on holiday. He’s deeply thankful that there aren’t any reflective surfaces about, because he knows that he’s gone faintly pink. 

Jon’s tried his best not to think too deeply on his… thoughts on the man, of late. He’s been doing a fair job of it: there’s always enough work to be done at the Institute to keep his mind off of it all, and he has enough books at home to stay engaged for months. But it’s always these solitary evenings in the Archives when thoughts begin to creep in, despite his best attempts to direct his focus elsewhere. But now that Elias’s piercing eyes and his high cheekbones and his… his thin lips have been conjured before Jon’s mind, it’s like he can’t turn his internal gaze to anything else.

He tries to look at it analytically. Most pressing is the question of where this fascination with his boss came from. Most distressing is the intensity of the thing. It’s certainly possible he’s misunderstood his own inner workings here.  _ Wouldn’t be the first time _ , some traitorous part of him supplies. He may have just gotten some wires crossed somewhere along the way; mistaking simple curiosity for, for, for--

“ _ Ow _ ,” Jon mutters, the hot and humiliating images in his mind distracting enough for him to somehow manage to slice himself open with his scissors. Ironic, he thinks, that his mildly uncomfortable desire to perform well enough on this task to be assigned yet another one afterwards might be sabotaged by thoughts of the man he’s shamefully desperate to please. But now there’s blood all over the clippings, and-- 

“Are you alright, Jon?”

“ _ Ngah _ ” is the noise that Jon makes, and it sounds undignified and pathetic even to his own ears. He’d jumped a little in his surprise, and now his workspace is beginning to look like a scene from some of the more unpleasant stories he’s had to look into since starting here.

The man himself is leaning casually against the doorframe, his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed in front of him. His tie’s loosened too, and he fixes Jon with a look of mild concern over his glasses. He  _ tsks _ quietly, and pushes away from the door towards the place where Jon is currently sitting, and possibly bleeding out. 

“Oh, Jon,” Elias says, and Jon leans away from him and scowls, unhappy with his proximity and his condescension. But Elias insinuates himself further into Jon’s personal space, and even presumes to take Jon’s oozing fingers in his own to inspect them. “What have you done to yourself?” he asks under his breath, and Jon can’t seem to pull away as Elias turns his hand this way and that to assess the damage.

“It’s… It’s nothing,” Jon manages, feeling faintly woozy. “I’ll have it all tidied in a moment.” Now he tries to withdraw, but Elias’s grip on his wrist is surprisingly strong.

“No, no,” Elias says, and he pulls gently on Jon to coax him up. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Elias’s words are serious and businesslike. “I wouldn’t want to see this infected.”

“It’s not all that bad,” Jon insists, but he allows himself to be pulled along nonetheless, preoccupied as he is with his mortification at the thought of Elias witnessing any hint of possible incompetence. “I can do it myself.”

“I have some supplies in my office.” Elias seems to ignore him, and guides him out the door. “Come.”

Jon stumbles a little at Elias’s pace, his long legs and Jon’s surprise and mild blood loss seeming to affect his coordination. This whole evening’s left Jon uncomfortably confused, and he finds himself still distressingly short of answers, and at this point even  _ questions _ , by the time they reach Elias’s office.

Elias carefully maneuvers Jon into the chair behind his desk, the only shockingly decadent object in an otherwise unremarkable office space. Elias has gone off to retrieve what they need from a cabinet to the side of the office. Jon’s left to numbly catalogue the few items on the desk, his findings to be processed at a later, more coherent time. 

“Ah. Here we are,” Elias says, and he’s back at Jon’s side. Jon stares helplessly up at him as Elias continues to calmly take command of the situation, delicately lifting Jon’s hand in his again. He watches, strangely disinclined to resist now, as Elias quietly wipes his blood from his fingers. There’s a strange, perplexing thrum in the air between them, and Jon can neither identify its source nor its meaning. He’s aware of the warmth of Elias’s hand on him, and the quiet sound of the man’s breathing, and of being the principal target of his considerable focus.

Elias continues to clean the cut, and when Jon flinches at the sting of the antiseptic that he applies, Elias seems to involuntarily squeeze his hand, perhaps in sympathy. When he begins to bandage the wound, Jon absently thinks it a little excessive, but he doesn’t protest. When he finally finishes his work, Elias softly runs his fingers over the back of Jon’s hand. Jon sucks in a little breath. Elias doesn’t release him.

“That should keep it clean enough,” Elias says. “Try and be more careful in the future, won’t you, Jon?” Jon frowns, his defensiveness at Elias’s tone returning. Elias pulls him out of the chair by his wrist again, and they’re standing face to face. “Perhaps you should make more of an effort to limit distraction,” Elias says, his voice soft and quiet. 

Jon blinks away his frustration at his inability to respond truthfully to the implicit accusation.  _ And what, exactly, is distracting me? _ As incoherent as it’d sound, it’s what he wants to yell. He wants to pull his hand from Elias’s. But instead he just stands there and lets Elias circle his thumb over Jon’s wrist like he’s feeling the living pulse inside him.

“I-I…” Jon stutters, as he fails to come up with a more appropriate retort. 

“After all, I need you hale and hearty, so to speak, down there in my archives. There’s much to do and you’re an indispensable part of my team.” It takes the final shreds of Jon’s self control to suppress a shiver. And before he can pull his fingers from Elias’s grip, he is released. His hand hovers between them, he doesn’t drop it down, he just looks up at Elias. He’s pinned in place by Elias’s dark, hooded eyes that shoot liquid heat through him, and the smile on his lips that fills him with an answering cold. 

The fire melts that ice and suddenly Jon can’t take it anymore, can’t maintain his grip on the iron control he has for so many years prided himself upon, and instead extends that shaky grip to the lapels of Elias’s slate gray suit jacket. He dearly wishes the man in front of him didn’t have so much  _ size  _ on him, wasn’t so broad and tall that Jon had to stand on his toes a little even after dragging his boss down so he could press their lips together, hard. 

He pulls back after the briefest of moments.

“Jon?” Elias says, in wonder and surprise, blinking down at him slowly. Jon releases his grip on Elias’s jacket and stumbles backwards, almost as surprised himself. 

“I… I don’t…” he starts, and he unconsciously raises his hand to his lips. Lips that he had just forced, unasked, against the lips of the man in charge of his promising new career. He presses a fingertip against them before he can stop himself, as if he’d be able to feel the searing heat he’s sure must be emanating from them now. “I don’t know why I… I’m sorry,” he breathes, and coward that he is, he turns away from Elias to hurry out of his office and down the hall.

“Jon?” he hears, echoing behind him. He doesn’t dare turn around.

“Jon!” He trips over himself a little now, partially colliding with a small table, but he keeps moving.

_ Jon! _

And then he feels a sharp pain against his temple, and he is jolted suddenly awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the Crew for ideas, comments, edits, concepts, encouragement, gay chicken, etc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon receives some surprising information.

Even in his current state of confusion and alarm he manages to fix his glare upon the retreating hand that has clearly just  _ flicked him in the forehead.  _

“Wh-?” he begins eloquently, followed by a belated, grumbled “ _ ow. _ ”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Sasha says, the sweetness of her voice a counterpoint to the sting her finger left behind. Jon lifts his hand to his temple.

“Was it really necessary to  _ touch _ me to, ah,” he starts, but Sasha is way ahead of him in her fully-conscious state.

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t  _ fallen asleep at work _ ,” she replies. Jon would’ve seen the fair point, perhaps, if it weren’t so obscured by the impenetrable barrier of his pride.

“If you had just  _ knocked _ before entering…”

“If you had just been  _ awake _ …” Sasha says, refusing to back down. Jon allows his embarrassment and self-consciousness to be shunted aside by acerbity as he always does. 

“Hm.  _ Fine.  _ What do you want?”

“Charming as always! Well, I was sent to tell you that Elias wants to see you in his office. Might want to clean yourself up a bit, first.” Sasha looks down at him and smiles.

Jon can barely see himself reflected in the black screen of his computer, which must have fallen asleep just as he had. What he can see isn’t pretty. One side of his hair has escaped his efforts to tame it flat, and he’s managed to wrinkle part of his collar. Perhaps the most mortifying thing is the small damp spot on his desk.  _ Ugh _ .

He looks away from Sasha and tries to smooth out his hair, his shirt, and his face as surreptitiously as possible. Her wide smile hasn’t budged an inch. 

“I wouldn’t keep him waiting,” she sing-songs, and traipses out the door, shutting it with exaggerated care behind her. Jon heaves a little sigh, and hauls himself up from his desk, trying to shake the unpleasant fog that always comes of napping. It wouldn’t do to float into Elias’s office all sleepy and incoherent. He glances furtively about, even with the knowledge that nobody’s there to see him, and gives his face a couple of light slaps. Hopefully they haven’t left his cheeks too pink. And before he heads up to face whatever’s waiting for him in Elias’s office, he puts on his glasses and tries to banish the childish thought that he’s donning some sort of armour or protection against whatever it is he’s about to face.

He begins the journey to Elias’s office and tries to imagine why he’s been summoned. Unfortunately, the trip takes him past the workspace of the archival assistants, so he can’t plumb the darkest depths of all the possible worst-case scenarios before his train of thought is rudely interrupted.

“Ooh, somebody’s in trouble!” Tim says, as if he were some sort of obnoxious schoolchild. 

“ _ Tim _ !” Martin manages to express a fear for Jon’s survival if Tim’s right, and indignation at his tone if he’s wrong, all with one word. Jon’s sure both sentiments are entirely unnecessary. In all likelihood he is about to conduct a perfectly uneventful meeting with his boss. They’ve always gotten on fairly reasonably, as far as Jon can tell. And there’s no way he could possibly know that Jon was just sleeping on the job. Or what it was he was dreaming about. The thought that his past improprieties could be known to anyone other than himself was completely irrational. 

Yes. A perfectly uneventful meeting.

The rest of the walk is just uncomfortably long enough for nervousness to start to corrode the iron certainty he’s worked to build in all things. Was his work thus far not impeccable? Was his boredom with the more pedestrian tales he’s had to research so palpable? Was his frustration so obvious with the… individuals of questionable stability... with whom he’s been conducting interviews? Has he seemed tired at work before today? While the vast,  _ vast  _ majority of the stories he’s had to investigate further are highly suspect, one or two of them  _ may  _ have affected the quality of his sleep. But before he can come up with any concrete examples of a lapse in his performance, he finds himself in front of the imposing door of Elias’s office. He lifts up a hand to knock.

“Come in, Jon,” he hears, before his fist makes contact with the wood. Jon files a mental note away for later to listen to all of his coworkers for a distinctive tread. He enters the office and shuts the door behind him. 

“Yes?” Jon asks, and he’s met with a tight lipped smile from Elias that doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“I trust you’re well, Jon?” Elias asks, his tone light and pleasant. 

“Do you need something from me?” Jon replies.

“Mm, well.” Elias’s smile never falters. “Why don’t you sit down.” Jon pulls out one of the seats opposite Elias’s impressive desk and sits stiffly, waiting for what is starting to seem like it might actually be a reprimand. 

“Now, Jon,” Elias begins, and Jon leans forward unconsciously. “You understand that we’re in the process of undergoing some, ah,  _ restructuring _ , here at the Institute.” Jon refuses to consider that he’s been called here to be sacked. He nods instead. “I know you’ll agree that it’s time to make a few changes. To shake things up, as they say.” Elias takes a long, slow slip from a small glass of water. Jon watches his throat bob and he waits for him to continue. “I feel there’s something missing-- a fresh perspective, if you will.” Jon suddenly feels on more solid ground here.

“Oh, without a doubt,” he says. “Some of the methods in use here -- in gathering, recording, archiving information -- are a bit obsolete, to be honest.” 

“Yes,” Elias says. “Yes! Well. You’ll soon see we have our reasons, but that’s precisely the sort of thing I’m talking about. New ideas; a new way of seeing things. New vision, as it were.” Jon purses his lips in what he’s been told actually fails to constitute a smile. “And I worry, Jon,” Elias continues, more quietly, “that there’s been a marked decline in focus, of late.” 

There’s a pause, and they both cock their heads. Jon is ashamed to admit that he can recognize the chorus of “Wannabe” rising from down the hall, the voices of Tim and Sasha coming together in mediocre harmony.

“Yes,” Jon agrees. 

“I knew you’d understand,” Elias says, looking at Jon over his glasses. Jon holds his gaze. He doesn’t fear this man. Not really. “There’s a degree of decorum -- of  _ dignity _ \-- that has a place in these hallowed halls, Jon.” Jon nods with what borders on enthusiasm, for him. That was one of the draws of the place when he first stepped through its old doors. Elias continues.

“You see, Jon, when our esteemed founder established the Institute in 1818…”

Jon doesn’t mean for his mind to wander while Elias is speaking, really. He fully understands the importance of attending to his boss’s every word, but there’s something about the man’s voice that sometimes makes his focus slip. So while he tries his best to listen while his eyes inspect the room, it interests him to find that his dreaming mind conjured the office almost to perfection. The only difference he can spot is that in reality, Elias sits in a perfectly average ergonomic chair.

Elias continues to monologue on the importance of fiscal responsibility at management level, and Jon idly observes the small, unconscious movements he makes as he speaks. He watches as Elias reaches down to undo the button of his suit jacket and rolls back his chair a little, arranging himself more comfortably. He lifts his ankle off of his knee to place both feet beneath his desk, and Jon loses sight of the shoes that Tim’s said cost more than his life. How much room is there under the desk, Jon wonders. Room enough for a person, for a man folded small? And if a kneeling man were down there, what would the perspective, that view reveal? 

“Jon? Are you still with me?” Elias asks, concerned. Jon blinks twice.

“Er, yes. Yes, of course,” he says, and redoubles his efforts to remain in the moment. To remain here, in this chair, and not in front of Elias, bracketed by his calves. His hands on his knees. His face between his thighs. Jon chokes a little.

“Would you, ah, like a glass of water?” Elias asks him, and Jon shakes his head no. His mouth certainly isn’t dry; wetness has welled beneath his tongue. 

“ _ No _ ,” he whispers for good measure, and it really sounds like he does need one, actually. Elias starts off again, and Jon tries to grip his words tight. He’s talking about leadership, and initiative, and organization, and  _ respect _ , and Jon is thinking about the clink of Elias’s belt and the click of his zipper and the stretch of his own lips and hot weight on his tongue. What that might feel like, how it might taste. What he might do to make Elias--

“...And that’s why I’m so pleased to tell you that you’re to be my new Head Archivist,” Elias says. 

“ _ What _ ?” Jon says with incredulity, as his mind comes crashing spectacularly back to where his body is actually situated in Elias’s office. 

“Mm?”

“Er, pardon?” Jon says, collecting himself. 

“Our new Head Archivist,” Elias says. “Congratulations! We couldn’t have gone another minute without a replacement. I understand that it might seem impossible to fill our dear Gertrude’s considerable shoes, but if anyone’s truly capable of such a feat, it’s you.”

“I… I suppose that’s true,” Jon says, having not expected this, but fully accepting it now.

“You’re certainly the most appropriate candidate for the position here. I know that you’ll acquit yourself marvelously.” 

“Y-yes, of course…?” Jon says. He tries his best to give voice to the confidence that he feels in this, as opposed to the roar of his pulse in his ears and the blaze of the heat upon his skin. He’s not entirely convinced that he’s succeeded. 

“It’s just as I’ve been saying, Jon. You certainly have what it takes, and I know we’ll work together to raise the Archives to its fullest potential.” Jon imagines a future wherein he’s working closely under Elias. He’s not entirely sure what it is his face is doing right now.

“There’s no need for modesty, Jon.” And Jon sees that Elias is smiling at him warmly, and he can only imagine that the redness that must be floating high on his cheeks might be a little misleading. Jon’s perfectly sure that he can steer the Archives into a whole new era, the likes of which Elias has never before seen. It’s just that he can’t for the life of him understand why in this the most crucial moment of his young career, the moment of real success for which he has been waiting so long, he just can’t seem to concentrate. There are more important things at stake right now than being on his knees underneath Elias’s desk. But that’s the image that monopolizes his mind while he tries to process what he’s just been told. 

“No, I-I-I... Thank you,” Jon manages, and he takes off his glasses to wipe the moisture that’s gathered on his brow. It feels a little like his eyes might pop out of his head, with all the pressure that’s suddenly behind them. 

“I have great confidence in you, Jon,” Elias says softly, and Jon takes a deep breath to clear his mind. He can do this. He  _ will  _ do this. “I know that you’re the perfect man for the job.” Jon can’t open his mouth to respond because he’s not entirely sure what sound will come out if he does. “You should be  _ very _ proud.” 

Jon throbs so hot inside at that that he can’t stand it anymore, can’t stand another soft word or smile. So he rises from his chair and he flees from Elias’s office, flushed and sweaty and faintly trembling. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is given an interesting idea.

“I’m… I’m glad you agreed to come with us tonight,” says Martin, into his third or fourth pint. He’s got both hands wrapped around the glass and he’s faintly pink but it doesn’t really register with Jon, who is also on his third or fourth pint, and who is also very much thinking about himself right now.

“Of  _ course  _ he had to come, Martin. It’s a celebration! And we’re paying,” says Tim, who is very magnanimous, and also several other things, when he is drunk. 

“Are we?” says Sasha, who is not yet drunk enough for that. “ _ He’s _ the one with the nice new paycheque.” She is, however, drunk enough to sort of miss pointing at Jon on the first try.

“Fair point,  _ boss _ ,” Tim says, with a facetious wink. “But since we rarely ever see you, I’ve got it just this once.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. He appreciates the generosity but not the cheek. 

“Come  _ on _ , boss. Try and let loose!” says Tim, and he slaps Jon on the back hard enough to spill his beer a little. Jon straightens his glasses with a little scowl and excuses himself to use the toilet.

When he finally finds the bathroom, he stands in front of the sink to splash a little water into his face. Tries to regain a little control of the situation. It’s hard to rearrange his understanding of the social fabric of the Institute so quickly. These people worked with him until so very recently; now, they work under him. It’s hard to imagine, but it feels right. 

_ God _ . He let them drag him out to this, but he’s been wanting to leave for ages. But as irritating as they all are, he supposes he should make some sort of attempt to be a…  _ team player _ . He’ll finish his drink, make an effort to be cordial, and then return to his flat. But he’ll at least have a go at it.

“This is  _ fun _ ,” he says to himself, in the mirror. He remains unconvinced. 

When he sits back down at their booth, everyone is red and giggling.

“How did we get onto Tim’s sex life, again? How do we,  _ every single week _ , get onto Tim’s sex life?” says Sasha, sounding kind of indignant, but not really.

“You do this every week…?” Jon asks, pushing up his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“You could get onto my sex life, if you wanted,” Tim says to Sasha, and he waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly. 

“That _ barely _ makes any sense, but o.k.,” Sasha replies.

“Okay?” says Tim, brightly.

“Shut  _ up _ ,” says Sasha, and she reaches across the table to swat playfully at Tim’s face. He grips his head in mock pain and turns to Jon.

“You missed  _ so  _ much,” Tim tells him. 

“I’m not sure this is entirely--” Jon starts, but Tim soldiers on.

And then he tells Jon what he let a girl do to him last night. Where, exactly, Tim let her touch him.

“Wh-what?” Jon says, and some sick part of him has to know. “Why would you ever… why would you let anyone--”

“Into your arse?” Tim laughs. 

Jon’s sure he’s gone  _ bright  _ red now, and it’s not just the beers, because he feels hot from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Gasp!” Tim literally says, when he could have just made an exaggerated gasping noise. “Jon, you’ve really never done…” and he lowers his voice conspiratorially, so that he’s now speaking at a volume that’s only slightly louder than what is conversationally appropriate. “... _ a _ -”

“ _ Tim! _ ” Tim can’t even get the word out before he’s been interrupted by Martin, and Jon sees him repeatedly glancing over in what looks like disapproval, or perhaps embarrassment?

“Yeah, that was a little much, even for me,” Tim says, as if he’s not sure where the thought came from. “But the words are out of my mouth!”

“Tim, he’s going to call HR on you!” Sasha says, teasingly. 

“Do we… do we even  _ have  _ an HR department?” asks Martin worriedly. 

“I think it might just be Elias,” Sasha says, with a giggle.

“Is that allowed…?” asks Martin, and he seems to actually be thinking about it seriously. Should Jon be thinking about it seriously? About HR? About Elias? About what HR would say if Jon starts thinking seriously about his boss while trying… while trying… About what Elias would say if he knew that Jon was thinking seriously about....  _ That _ ? He needs another pint. Or he needs one less. Fewer?

“Jon, are you alright?” Martin asks, and Jon startles like he’s been caught.

“Yes, I... I think I need to go, actually,” Jon says, and he gets up while only swaying a little.

“I didn’t mean right this minute!” Tim says, laughing.

“Tim, you’ve scared him off! Now it’ll be another year and a half before we can get him out again,” Sasha says with an exaggerated pout.

“Jon, d’you… need a hand getting home?” asks Martin, looking up at him with an expression that Jon can only describe as ‘cartoonish.’

“Martin…” Tim says it as if it’s a warning and also a joke. For whatever reason Martin turns approximately fuschia. 

“I didn’t mean--!” he sputters, and Tim laughs.

“No, I’m perfectly capable of--” Jon stumbles a little as he grabs his coat. “ _ Perfectly  _ capable of finding my own way, thanks,” he says primly, and he stalks off with as much dignity as he can physically manage. He nearly collides with a waitress.

***

Jon doesn’t like to drink. 

He just doesn’t understand the appeal of inebriation. Why someone would willingly, enthusiastically relinquish control over themselves like this he can’t quite fathom. So he isn't really feeling his best when he finally finds the right key to his flat. He doesn’t like that his vision and his head are swimming, and he doesn’t enjoy the fact that he’s not entirely in control of his own instrument. But more than anything, he’s ashamed of allowing himself to be put in this state in the first place. He should never have permitted his colleagues to buy him that many rounds. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore-- sort of fuzzy and vulnerable. He hopes that maybe a shower will help.

He steps under the spray while it’s still cold to see if that’ll clear his woozy head, but it just makes him shivery and it kind of hurts, so he turns it up hot to warm up again faster. He stands under the water for a while and tries not to think, which has never ever worked before and certainly isn’t working now. 

And so he thinks about his recent conduct, and how profoundly unbecoming it’s been. If ever there was a time to be a consummate professional, it’s certainly now. And yet, it’s like someone’s removed his brain and returned it rearranged. He doesn’t recognize this new side of him; he’s unfamiliar with these near-constant demands from his body. He’s willing to believe that perhaps this body was just waiting for someone to inspire those reactions, and it’s taken until now to find him. It’s just taken this long to make him hot and distracted and uncertain and-- and… 

And he looks down at the evidence of his body’s demands.

_ Oh _ .

Jon sighs deeply. He might as well get this over with. If ever there was a time… for experimentation… it might be now. He can blame his state of mind on the alcohol-- even the state of his body-- and he can certainly blame the whole thing on Tim. And Elias. Whatever Elias is doing to him to make him like this… his intoxicating words and his smooth voice and the lean lines of his body… whatever it is makes Jon hot, and makes him trace a finger along his bottom lip. He tries to imagine it as somebody else’s-- why obfuscate now, he’s actually doing it-- as  _ Elias’s  _ long and elegant finger, but it still feels like his own. He slides it between his lips, and that stirs some buried part of him. He sucks on it, once, and to hold off on any unwanted associations withdraws it just as quickly, gathering the wetness that’s again built up inside him. Slowly, even tentatively, he reaches behind himself.

It doesn’t feel bad, exactly, but it doesn’t feel great either? But he’s doing this to explore, to experience, and again he imagines the finger is not his own. He tries just rubbing, just circling around the outside and, yes, when he thinks of Elias… thinks of Elias up behind him in the shower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on his shoulder… He tilts his head like he’s allowing access, and makes the smallest of noises when he feels the hot pulse of water there instead.

He’s starting to feel a little wobbly, so he leans his arm against the shower wall for balance. He rests his forehead against his forearm and breathes deep in the steamy room. He’s not yet entirely sure of the appeal; if he had to really consider it, it’s not the ideal location for an erogenous zone. But as he rubs against it he’s pushing back with little unconscious hitches of his hips. Elias would probably go slow, would be methodical like this, wouldn’t he? He seems like a man who would have infinite patience, who wouldn’t mind taking his time to soften Jon up. Or maybe he’d be impatient, stern, forceful, and would just--

Jon slips his finger in, and lets out a little gasp. He’s surprisingly hot and surprisingly tight and he can only take a little in. It’s a strange feeling, really, and it’s hard to relax and let go of the thought that nothing’s really meant to go in there. And even if he really wanted to, was really ready to, he’s not flexible enough to get too much deeper. So he starts there, spreading his legs a little wider and angling, tipping his hips up a little to see how far he can go. 

He’s feeling so hot and finding it so hard to breathe, and it’s probably the shower, but he tries to slow his breathing even more, tries to align it with every time he pushes in a little deeper. And the strange intrusion feels that much better when he imagines Elias pushing against his back, Elias pressing into him and whispering into his neck how well he’s taking it. That makes Jon’s hips buck hard, and it pushes a moan out of him that gets lost in the pounding of the spray. His forehead’s leaning against the tile now because his other hand’s dropped down to his stiff prick.

He’s pressing his face against the cooler tile and he’s panting, open-mouthed.  _ God _ , it’s so much better, this is  _ so  _ much better when he’s imagining Elias’s hand pulling his cock instead. To be rubbed and stroked from both sides, to have warm water around him and a warm voice in his head, all of it makes his own voice go higher and higher. And then he imagines his boss telling him to  _ come _ ,  _ now _ , and he’s spilling hard, shooting against the white tile. He gasps, shocked by how hard he’s clenching down around himself. He closes his eyes and breathes through it, and slowly slips his finger out, the feeling just as strange. His head’s even cloudier than before and his legs are trembling so hard he almost slips. What a way to go, he thinks to himself, reaching up to turn the water off. A humiliating way to leave behind one’s corpse.

When he opens his eyes again, some of the evidence of his little experiment hasn’t yet been washed away, and clings thickly to the wall. He makes a little noise of surprise and displeasure, as if his shower’s been permanently marked for the world to see, and as he hurries to lean down to wipe it all away he finds his legs still don’t seem to be functioning as they should. He should lie down. He needs to lie down.

So he steps out of the shower and slowly towels off, and he slips into something soft and comfortable before spreading himself out to stare blankly at the ceiling.

_ God _ ,  _ this’ll be the last time _ , he swears to himself. Never again; he absolutely can’t risk this impacting his job performance. He allowed himself to be shamefully, humiliatingly distracted in his moment of professional triumph, when he should have been sanguine and composed. He’s quite certain that he failed to make an appropriate impression on Elias at such a truly pivotal juncture in his career. Furthermore, the whole thing’s just not worth the guilt; Elias is a human being, he doesn’t deserve to be… to be  _ used _ like this, in Jon’s sordid fantasies. 

_ Fuck.  _ Who is he, anyway? What is he becoming?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes an investment.

Jon adjusts his glasses nervously and slowly moves the cursor up to the search bar, as if he might change his mind about all this before it arrives there. No such luck. He clicks the bar, resigned to his fate, and tries to imagine what the hell it is he should even start with. He did some… preliminary research… earlier; found advice of various degrees of usefulness and credibility on forums and the like. But now that it’s time to actually make a choice… God, it’s hard to know where to start.

He checks to make sure that he’s enabled private browsing. When he’s done, he’ll delete all of his browser history anyway. Maybe he’ll delete the entire browser! And then the whole computer. Just to be safe. If anybody found out what he was doing here he might have to delete  _ himself  _ out of utter humiliation. 

He types what he’s looking for and presses enter as fast as he can so he doesn’t have to look at it any longer than he has to.  _ That  _ was terribly logical of him, because now he has to look at the words that came out of his own brain  _ and  _ their corresponding images. Wonderful! To continue this delightful pattern of doing things that make lots of sense, he keeps glancing behind him for some reason. It’s patently absurd behaviour; nobody’s in his home to see him do this.

It turns out that there are some local shops that could supply him with what he n... With what he’s  _ looking for _ . When he notices just  _ how  _ local, he briefly considers the merits of picking something up in person. But however substantial his fear of a phallic package arriving at his doorstep and all of his neighbours and also his kind old landlady witnessing it, the thought of donning some sort of pervert disguise to obscure his perversion is much worse. He checks that private browsing is on again.

He raises his hand to his mouth as he scrolls through an endless onslaught of silicone and colour. He supposes he should invest in some sort of… beginner model…? He’s not entirely sure how one might establish what that might even entail, given the variance in the construction of the human body, but he decides to err on the side of caution and selects something on the lower end of… girth. And length. And price. Might as well be frugal.

His cursor hovers over the “pay now” button as he considers the enormity of what he’s about to do. It feels like some kind of point of no return to him, like if he goes through with this he’ll take a step through a strange new door that leads to some place he can’t even begin to conceptualize. Then he tries to dismiss the thought as an irrational overreaction, and removes the nail he’s found he’s been biting from his mouth. He looks at the frayed edge of his finger with displeasure. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t replace one anxious habit for another; wouldn’t put a finger between his lips instead of a cigarette. He drops his hand, sucks in a breath, and hits the button. 

And then he curses as he wonders how this purchase will appear on this month’s credit statement.

***

Despite his trepidation, the whole procedure was relatively painless. But now there’s a whole other adventure to undertake, and Jon’s sitting on the edge of his bed with his back straight and stiff and his hands clenched hard around his knees, staring at the offending object like he’s some kind of-- 

_ Right _ .

He slips off his shorts and reaches for the lubricant that he’d purchased concurrently with… said object. He pushes aside the observation that his finger pushes in with much less resistance now, and instead allows his mind to settle on the kinds of thoughts that have been driving him to do this much more often than he’d care to admit. It’s not long before he’s imagining two of Elias’s fingers inside of him, getting him ready to take... something new.

Because he’s finding his fear of the unknown is suddenly being outstripped by a fundamental curiosity. There’s a reason people do this, isn’t there? There’s a reason Tim likes it and there’s a reason why the online stock of items that facilitate this sort of activity is incomprehensibly huge. But as he’s staring down the little phallus on his pillow he begins to enter that disturbing headspace at which he’s found he arrives when the heat between his legs seems to find its way up to his brain. It’s a space wherein any idea, really, sounds like an idea that might feel good.

Because he’s suddenly thinking back to the day of his promotion, and the shocking new thoughts that had occurred to him then. Before that day he had never thought of putting his mouth on a man, let alone putting something in the hot, tight space his fingers were currently exploring. But he’s thinking about it now, when he looks at this new toy that has yet to venture someplace unspeakable. 

He leans forward and closes his eyes and parts his lips and takes it in his mouth. Just a little, just enough to close them around the tip. Initially, he feels like a bit of a, well. Like a bit of a cock. He laughs a little around it and has to let it fall from his lips, because the sound of a man laughing around an imitation prick is incredibly stupid. It’s all going just  _ beautifully _ , and Jon takes a moment to be grateful not only for the fact that nobody is here to bear witness to his attempted debauchery, but mostly that he’s at least thought to practice before he makes an absolute fool of himself in front of a real human member.

But he’s nothing if not determined, and maybe also admittedly the tiniest bit excited, as his body seems to still appreciate the sensation of having fingers inside of it. So he takes it in his mouth again and sucks on it lightly and he asks himself what exactly it is that’s arousing about having a prick between your lips. On his second try the whole thing seems reasonable, it seems doable, and he takes it a little deeper into his mouth and immediately chokes. Fantastic.

He drops it again and takes a second to cough and splutter before redoubling his efforts to pleasure this inanimate object. The longer he licks and sucks at it the more open he becomes to the argument that there may be something to this. He focuses on the weight in his mouth and the stretch of his lips and he finds he can take it deeper when he imagines that it’s Elias who he’s slicking up, that it’s Elias to whom he is showing just how well he can learn and perform and succeed. The angle of his neck is making it slightly sore, but he closes his eyes and tries to immerse himself in fantasy.

And quite soon he finds the whole thing almost overstimulating. On his belly like this, when he grinds his hips forward it rubs his trapped cock against his sheets. When he hitches them back it slides his wet fingers that much deeper. And as he drools on the fake cock in front of him he’s finding all these sources of feeling to be just a little too much. So he slips his fingers out and slides his mouth off and lies there on his front for a moment and allows himself the shortest of seconds to appreciate the sparks shocking all through his sensitized body.

_ Alright. Enough messing about.  _ He wants to feel it now, he’s surprised to find. He really, actually does.

It’s pretty wet from being in his mouth, but he lubes the whole thing up just to be sure. He reaches behind himself again and presses it against his hole. It’s thicker, harder, longer than his fingers of course, and the press of it against him serves to underscore that fact. He starts by rubbing it, pressing it against him to create one last chance to flee from this whole thing, but he can’t do it. He can only breathe, and push, and take it inside himself, and gasp a little with the feeling of it.

He tries to catalogue those feelings so he can sort them under the vague headings of “good,” “mediocre,” or “bad.” He supposes the appeal is this strange feeling of fullness, and the sensation of being stretched. But is it really worth all the trouble? He fucks himself slowly with it, and isn’t yet convinced.

God. Maybe he’s just… not very good at this? He grumbles a little in frustration; there’s something fundamentally unacceptable about that train of thought. But a sudden concept occurs to him, one of which he wasn’t previously aware. There’s a spot inside, a spot inside he thinks he can find that will bring him incredible pleasure. As he slowly slides it in and out he scrabbles for the origin of the idea. Did he read about it in his research for this act? Learn it when he’d learned about the human body? Did Tim mention it the other night? Had he studied it in a mad quest to understand the overheard conversations of the other boys in school?

Whatever the source, he’s vaguely aware of its approximate location, and he begins his search. He tries to block out the soft little sounds he finds are pushed out of him every time he presses in so that he’s able to concentrate. He rolls on his side to try and get better access. He pushes it shallowly, deeply, and at a variety of different angles until his eyes fly open in surprise. Oh.  _ Oh. _

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” he whispers softly.

He feels his eyes unfocus and his mind go fuzzy as he presses against that spot again and again. It feels good in a way in which he’d never before experienced: as he rubs against that part of himself a slow and pulsing heat begins to build in the deepest parts of him. And every time he imagines that it’s Elias’s cock inside of him, Elias who’s making him feel this way, he can’t stop the low moans that are fucked out of him. That’s too much, he can’t stand to hear them, so he turns his head to the side so they're at least muffled by the pillow beneath him. 

He keeps pushing at that spot again and again and the pleasure inside of him builds and builds until he can’t hold back. The onslaught of sensation from his hand on his cock and the incredible fullness inside are just too much to take. The thought of both of those feelings being caused by someone else is what ultimately undoes him. 

“ _ E-Elias _ ,” he moans. Pleasure blooms inside of him irresistibly, and his whole body goes hot and tight and trembling. His eyes roll back and his body falls back too and his toes curl and he shoots all over himself and it feels like _ forever _ .

When his body finally goes loose against his bed he lies there, eyes wide and on his ceiling. He tries to gain control of his deep and gasping breaths. When he comes back to himself a little, he glances down and it takes a second to register the absolute mess he’s made of himself. 

The toy had been pushed out of him in the aftershocks of his climax, and he sees that he’s covered in his own come and sweat, and that he is dripping and sticky with the lubricant. The sensation is cold, unpleasant, and faintly disgusting. He groans in displeasure. He needs to clean this all up; he needs to rise from this fucked-out stupor he’s put himself in. He needs to hide all the evidence of it. He needs to do that immediately. If, before he is able to do so, he has a heart attack and dies here from all of this exertion, the anonymous individuals tasked with clearing his moldering corpse from his home will have to contend with.  _ This _ . It is not how he wishes to be remembered. He groans again as he eases himself up to begin his work.

What’s not entirely unpleasant, strangely, is the tight little ache he feels deep inside himself. He wonders how long it will remain as a reminder of what he’s allowed himself to do. Will it last long enough to serve as a warning, to hold him off from doing it again? Or will it encourage him, and stoke a hungry fire within him that begs to be sated?

Because it displeases him to admit it, but he  _ wants _ to do it again. Maybe the first time was a fluke. Maybe it’s not always like… this? What if… What if it could be  _ better _ …? Clearly, more practical research is in order. 

Because it  _ was _ good.  _ God _ , was it good. But what disturbs him most is the certainty, the  _ absolute knowledge _ , that it won’t feel as good as the real thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you-- Jesus Christ. If you... recognize some of yourself in Jon, uh. Thank you for your contribution! God. Quarantimes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias amuses himself.

Jon raises a brow and eyes him with suspicion, and Elias bestows upon him an indulgent smile in return. A small, neatly wrapped package sits on the desk between them, unopened. Jon stands.

“Please,” Elias says, with a wave of his hand that gently commands Jon to take a seat. Jon lowers himself down slowly, and his wary look remains firmly in place. 

“What’s this?” Jon asks, and Elias may be a master of self-control, but he lets out a quick exhalation of amusement. Jon sees a gift and he responds not with gratitude or enthusiasm, but with a cynical distrust that might even be interpreted as rude. Elias thinks he might never tire of playing with this man.

“Open it and see, Jon,” Elias says, his tone patient and placating. 

“Hm. Alright,” Jon says gruffly, and reaches out to unwrap it. Elias watches his face instead of his mind for any reaction, for fun. “Ah,” Jon says, when he sees what’s inside. “I don’t--” 

“...You don’t have a shirt with French cuffs?” Elias keeps his smile faintly benign in the face of the conflict he sees softly clouding Jon’s angular features. Now, because it’s even  _ more  _ fun, Elias slips into Jon’s mind. Today it’s almost like dipping his fingers into a cool pond. 

He silently watches Jon compare the benefits of lying to impress him to telling the truth to appear unbothered and nonchalant. He fails to make either impression, really, when he admits what’s true with barely-concealed embarrassment. 

“Er, no, not exactly,” he says.  _ Really _ , thinks Elias.  _ How shocking. If only I had known _ . 

“Ah, what a thoughtless gift,” he says out loud, withholding the irony. “How inconsiderate of me.”

“N-no, it’s perfectly fine.” Jon looks away and he internally berates himself for fumbling his way through this interaction with Elias, as he feels he has been doing more often than not, recently. 

“Truly,” Elias says, and Jon looks up at him again. 

“What?” asks Jon, unsure and off-balance. 

“It’s a problem that’s easily solved, Jon. Do you have plans for tonight?”  _ Anyone _ would know the answer to that one without having to check. 

“ _ What? _ ” Jon repeats, now completely thrown. 

“We can get you one,” Elias says simply.

“ _ I _ can get me one!” Jon’s voice goes a little higher in his indignation, but Elias sees the tiniest spark of curiosity inside of him with regard to how this evening might go, and he knows that he’s already won. It’s now just a matter of how he wants to play the game.

“Well, Jon, there’s no time like the present, as they say. It’ll only be a moment and we’ll have you dressing the part.”

“Is there something the matter with the way I dress!”

“Tell me truly, Jon. Based on the current status of your wardrobe…  _ can  _ you dress the part?”

“Well--” Jon begins. Elias quickly rifles through the mounting list of concerns in Jon’s head and settles on one.

“On your new salary, you absolutely can. And I  _ have _ mentioned the accompanying bonus, haven’t I?”

“Yes, well, thank you for that, I suppose. But I still don’t see the problem with me finding my  _ own _ \--”

“No, Jon, I have an eye for such things. And I need my Head Archivist looking his best,” he says with finality. And he has to bite the inside of his cheek because Jon is projecting the mental image that he is currently forming  _ extremely  _ loudly, which is one of Elias at Harrods with Gertrude. To be quite honest, if Elias had been able to convince her, it might have been rather amusing. 

“Well…” Jon says, defeated. And he sits there quietly for a moment, a little lost. He tries to rationalize his inevitable acquiescence after the fact. Maybe there’s a level of nuance concerning the social implications of his new place in the Institute’s hierarchy that he’s failed to grasp? Maybe this sort of thing is just expected of him now? 

“Excellent,” Elias says, and glances at the clock. Perfect timing. “Shall we?”

Elias stands and begins to pack his things. Jon stands too, and begins to leave.

“Ah,” says Elias, in a gently chiding tone. “Mustn’t forget these.” He hands Jon the box holding the cufflinks. He reaches out to take them, and their hands briefly touch. Jon looks away.

“Er, yes. Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Please,” says Elias. “It’s my pleasure.”

Jon turns positively crimson. 

Elias opens the door for him, and as they move into the hallway, he resists an ancient urge to reach out a hand to Jon, fingertips to be taken to lead him on.

***

“Isn’t this a little…” Jon takes a deep breath. “... _ absurd _ .” Elias watches him scan the street as they walk into the shop. As if anyone he knows would be around to catch him on some illicit errand with his boss. As if anyone would  _ care _ . Well… Martin’s partway through his long commute home, so the thought remains charmingly paranoid. Elias ushers him through the door.

“Nonsense, Jon,” Elias says, and he strides towards the menswear department at a speed that has Jon hurrying to keep up with him, which undoubtedly makes  _ Jon _ look absurd. When they arrive, Elias feels a tiny shock of excitement that he so rarely experiences these days. He’s always had a bit of a thing for clothes.

Sliding inside Jon’s mind he sees just the opposite. Jon’s thinking about how if he had his way, they’d be in and out. He’d find an approximation of what he needs, pay for it, and leave. Then he thinks about the optics of following Elias around while he picks out little outfits for him, and decides with just a hint of disgust that he’ll go be bored to tears elsewhere. This suits Elias just fine. He takes his time feeling fabrics and contemplating colours, and when he’s done he finds Jon sitting uncomfortably on a chair conveniently seated near the changing rooms, almost managing to read a book. Excellent.

“Ah, here we are,” Elias says. He hands Jon the shirt that will go so well with his new cufflinks and gently ushers him into the changing room. Jon wants so badly to resist, but doesn’t. 

Elias isn’t too disappointed when Jon comes out of the changing room wearing the same outfit in which he entered it. To begin with, it was no trouble to see how the shirt looked when Jon turned his critical eye upon his body in the mirror. Secondly, he has another chance.

“Trousers next,” says Elias, and he holds out a pair for Jon to take. Jon glares at him. “While you’re here,” he continues mildly. “To complete the look.”

“ _ Fine _ ,” Jon says, long-suffering. Elias’s body has him trapped, anyway, blocking him from exiting the stall unless he edges awkwardly out. Jon takes the trousers and disappears again. 

“They fit,” Jon calls from inside.

“Come  _ out _ , Jon,” Elias says, as if he’s speaking to a petulant child that needs coaxing. 

“Why!” comes the slightly muffled, very indignant response from the changing room.

“Because I want to see the fit,” says Elias, as if it’s obvious. Jon sticks his head out behind the curtain almost furtively, and scowls when he finds Elias leaning against the wall, waiting for him to emerge. He slips out almost shyly, and Elias is almost overcome with the sudden need to throw away the whole plan and fuck him right there. Instead, he says,

“Turn  _ around _ , Jon.” He’s going to have to get used to guiding this man; to holding his metaphorical hand every step of the way. He might as well start here, where it’s hard to stifle his smile, because Jon looks so put upon that he might burst. Elias has to bring his hand to his mouth as he listens to Jon silently wonder why the hell he agreed to this in the first place. He does an awkward little turn and Elias makes a mental note to send The Spider a handwritten letter of thanks.

“Well?” Jon asks him, and he’s trying to just sound impatient. Elias supposes that he may have been staring just a touch too long.

“...We can always have them taken in a little. But these should do nicely,” he says. Jon’s about to say something like,  _ why don’t we just find a pair that actually  _ fit _ ,  _ until he realizes that that would mean spending even  _ more  _ time doing this. Frankly, Elias would much rather take Jon to his tailor, and put him in something bespoke. But he’ll save that for later.

Now, he beckons Jon forward with a tilt of his head and the curve of his finger. Jon tamps down the instinct to approach tentatively, like a cautious animal, and strides over as he rallies and decides to show no fear. Elias finds the whole thing somewhat delicious, and drapes the matching jacket over Jon’s slim shoulders. It needs a few alterations too, but it’ll look perfect in the end.

“There. Now we just need…” and Elias reaches down for the tie he’s selected. Before Jon can reach for it or even protest, Elias is flipping up his collar and sliding it around his neck. 

It’s moments like these where Elias finds it legitimately difficult to decide how to proceed. One the one hand, it’s so tempting, so  _ tantalizing _ to have Jon’s racing thoughts at his fingertips. But on the other, Elias knows he could just live in this moment, just stand inches away from Jon, insinuating himself into his space while he deftly ties a knot around his neck. He could feel Jon’s breath instead of his terrified excitement. He could almost hear his heartbeat instead of his confusion; his stifled yearning. And he could see the dilation of his eyes instead of the tumbling chaos of his thoughts. 

Well. It seems he’s managed both.

When Elias finishes with the tie, Jon steps back and lets out the breath he’d been holding. He looks down at it and says,

“I don’t think it’s really  _ me. _ ”

“It brings out your eyes,” Elias says. Jon blinks once at that, and turns away to take in the entire effect in the mirror.

“Isn’t the cut a little…” Jon considers how best to articulate the thought. “Outdated?” Elias laughs.

“I’m impressed, Jon.” He legitimately is. It’s almost delightful to find there are still parts of Jon that are as yet unknown to him. Though there won’t be for very much longer. “I don’t think we’ll do any better, considering what we have to work with.” Elias leaves Jon to change and to decide whether that was a comment on the quality of the clothing, or of his own lanky body. 

While he waits, he thinks about how this little performance was vastly preferable to watching Jon get sleepily dressed in the morning, despite the warm intimacy of the act. He’ll see the whole thing in live-action soon enough, anyway. 

Soon Jon emerges, and he’s already feeling more comfortable in the old outfit to which he is accustomed. Elias can sabotage that.

“And tomorrow night, Jon...” he starts.

“Really, Elias, this is  _ more  _ than enough.” Jon interrupts him, trying to cut off whatever strange new offer he has in mind. 

“... I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“I can’t, honestly--” Jon tries, profoundly shocked, but Elias stops him there.

“ _ Please _ , Jon, don’t make too much of it. We’ll only... talk shop, as it were.”

“Really,” Jon says, clearly suspicious.

“Not to worry, Jon. Work matters only. There’s much to discuss about your new position, after all,” says Elias, and he writes down the name of the restaurant. “Meet me at 8.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am unfortunately back at work, so updates will be much, much slower now. :(


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm, uh. Hoping that by this point you are all here for Elias evilly, magically obviating consent, but uh. Just to be safe. This has alcohol in it...?

At 8:09 Elias looks up from the menu he’s been perusing. He’s neither offended nor surprised, of course, at Jon’s slight tardiness. He knows exactly how Jon spent those nine minutes: what he was thinking, how he was feeling, what he was doing. The words he was repeating to himself. 

Now, he watches Jon glance furtively about until he finds Elias’s eyes in a dark corner of the room. Elias beckons him over with a small smile and a slight inclination of his head. Jon examines his surroundings as he moves over to the table, and Elias examines Jon. 

Seeing the full look all together now is really quite something, for Jon has elected to don the entire ensemble this evening. He’s still uncomfortable with the slightly higher collar of the shirt. The tie’s a little wider than what he’s used to, the waistcoat has a few more buttons than he’d like, and he’s not accustomed to the cut of the jacket. It may not be entirely to Jon’s taste, but Elias likes what he sees.

The shoes are the only unfortunate oversight. It’s a pity, but Elias is sure that he’ll have an opportunity to provide Jon with a nice new pair in the future. No doubt he’ll do something to deserve them. 

“Look at you,” Elias says mildly, when Jon reaches the table. Apparently Jon doesn’t feel the need to dignify that comment with a response, and he sits down stiffly. Instead, he immediately reaches for the bottle of Merlot that Elias has already ordered for them. Elias admires the way the cufflinks glint in the candlelight, and the tiny glimpse of Jon's thin wrist. Elias reaches for his glass too, and raises it towards Jon. 

“A toast,” Elias says warmly. “To my new Head Archivist. Congratulations, Jon.”

“You said this was only going to be about work,” Jon grumbles quietly, turning his head to the side but raising his glass anyway. 

“Well, it is!” says Elias lightly. “And look, Jon, you deserve to be feted. This is a significant milestone in your career.”

“Well…” Jon replies, considering the truth of it. 

“Come now, you’ve allowed your colleagues to show their appreciation for your success. Is this really so different?”

“I think it might be, yes,” Jon replies.

“Nonsense,” Elias tells him, and tops up his glass. Jon drinks distractedly, his throat bobbing, and Elias listens to him think about those colleagues. He wonders if they might find out about this. He thinks that they might “make it weird.” But Jon is soon saved from those worried thoughts as the waiter arrives at their table. 

“Yes, I’ll have the steak, rare, and he’ll have the lamb. With a salad,” Elias tells him.

“That’s completely unnecessary,” says Jon sternly, and he’s deeply offended. He takes a second to glance over the menu and then looks up at the waiter. “Er, yes. I’ll have that.” The waiter leaves, Jon colours and drains his glass, and Elias fills it again.

“Right. Work,” Jon says, trying his best. Elias smiles indulgently. 

“Of course, Jon. How have you found it so far?”

“Shockingly disorganized, to be honest,” Jon replies, and Elias raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“I’m not sure how you allowed the Archives to fall into such a sorry state,” Jon begins. Elias lets out a little huff of amusement into the glass that he’s raised to his lips. 

“Go on,” Elias says, and he leans forward in his seat a little. It takes Jon a moment to get into it, taking little sips of wine between thoughts, little bites of lamb once it comes. But the drink seems to have loosened his lips, and it seems he’s brought with him some sort of mental itemized list of his grievances with the way the Institute’s been run.

And soon enough Jon is positively ranting: about the disorder in the Archives and his many opinions on Gertrude’s filing system (or according to Jon, her lack thereof). Elias nods and smiles and he fills Jon’s glass. Jon unconsciously picks it right up again for another aggressive sip, the only pause in his indignant diatribe about Gertrude’s “incompetence.” Elias might head down to the tunnels tomorrow and see if her body’s completed a full rotation. 

And now Jon’s gesticulating a little, and almost knocks over the empty bottle in his uncharacteristically passionate critique of Elias’s life’s work. Elias drains his own glass and calls for the bill. He thinks they might skip dessert. 

Jon rises from the table with a little wobble, and Elias comes around to place a steadying hand on his lower back. He feels Jon lean ever so slightly into the touch, and he can’t help but apply a little more pressure. By the time they’ve made it outside, he’s practically bearing most of Jon’s weight. While Jon continues his monologue, Elias reaches into his pocket and withdraws a very old golden case, and pulls a cigarette from it. For a moment, Jon gazes blearily at the elegant monogram that decorates its lid. His mind slides off it, though, when Elias asks him if he has a light. 

He does, of course, and Elias eyes the delicate strands of its web in the moment the lighter sparks. He dearly wants to know what it is that Jon sees; how Jon sees him illuminated in the flickering glow of the flame. And so he does. 

“Care for one?” Elias asks, and offers Jon his choice. Jon stares at the cigarettes for a moment, much in the same way he had stared into Elias’s face. But the wariness overcomes the want.

“I… I think I need some air,” Jon says faintly, and he turns away from Elias and starts down the sidewalk. Elias takes a long drag and feels a few wet droplets on his face. He looks up at the sky and throws away the cigarette. He catches up to Jon in a few long strides.

“It’s very late, Jon,” Elias says quietly, and it is. Jon could go for hours, it would seem, with the proper lubrication. Jon nods absently. But more droplets are cascading from the sky, and in a moment there’s a downpour that’s practically torrential. Elias steps out to hail a taxi, and ushers Jon into the first one that appears. Elias gives an address, and it is not Jon’s.

As they’re driven through the rain-soaked London streets, Elias watches Jon watch the city. Jon blinks slowly against its lights, and leans his forehead against the cool window. Elias’s hands itch. He keeps them in his lap. 

It’s not long before they reach their destination-- Elias had selected a restaurant not far from his flat. He pays the fare and steps out to open Jon’s door, and he reaches out a hand to help Jon up.

“Hm?” Jon says, blinking up at a home that clearly isn’t his. 

“It’s alright, Jon,” Elias replies, and he ushers him forward with an arm around his waist. Jon allows himself to be led to the door. 

Elias fumbles with his key in the lock and tries to line up all of his thoughts precisely. He thinks perhaps that it may have been ill-advised to continue to drain his own glass while filling up Jon’s. But after another moments’ struggle, he manages to get his door open.  _ Now, he’s gotten Jon this far; it shouldn’t be too hard to set in motion the final _ \--

As soon as the door closes behind them, Jon grabs him by the lapels and shoves him bodily against the wall of his front hall. He lets himself be moved by Jon’s hands.  _ Excellent _ , he manages to think, before Jon’s lips are hungry upon his own.  _ This should save time. _

For Jon had indeed taken advantage of his rare and momentary distraction, and is now pressed against him as if he couldn’t stand the thought of space between their bodies. He’s kissing Elias furiously, stopping in between hot presses of his lips to gasp:

“I’m sorry-- It’s unprofessional-- I know-- I’m  _ sorry-- _ ” Elias drinks down his desperation for a while, then brings his hands up to Jon’s face to hold him still. 

“ _ Easy, Jon _ ,” he whispers, and he leans forward to taste Jon’s little moan. Jon seems to try and slow his breathing, and now his lips are trembling against Elias’s. For a moment he desperately wants to make Jon tell him why he’s shaking against him, but it’s much too early to push him like that. In any case, Elias is intimately acquainted with the depths of Jon’s fear and shame and excitement.

Instead he continues to keep Jon’s face in between his palms, and he slowly, patiently begins to show Jon exactly how he likes to kiss, and to be kissed in return. And as diverting as it is to tell Jon something new, and as sweet as it is to force that knowledge deep inside of him, there’s a simple, human pleasure in just showing him like this. 

And so he licks deep into Jon’s mouth so slowly, and Jon opens for him beautifully and makes soft low sounds into him. The slower he goes, softly rubbing Jon’s lips against his own, the more Jon relaxes against him and into him. Jon is quick to show him how fast a learner he is, and very soon he picks up on how to make them both feel good. Elias drops his hands down to Jon’s jaw, to his neck, and he leaves him with one last lovely push of his tongue into him.

Because Jon’s clothes are still damp, and Elias’s are too, and Jon is starting to tremble with cold on top of everything else that he feels. Elias looks down at him as if he could warm him with his smile, and then he slides out from underneath Jon, who stumbles against the wall, weak-kneed. He removes his shoes and he heads towards the stairs and looks over at Jon, and then mounts them slowly, one by one. It takes every ounce of his considerable self-control to stay out of the man’s mind in this moment. He wants to see if Jon will surprise him again tonight.

When Elias opens the door at the top of the stairs, he turns to look down at him. He finds that his eyes are huge, wide open and wanting. Elias raises an eyebrow.

“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes before you catch cold,” he says quietly. “I need you alive and well at work tomorrow.”

And he watches Jon close his eyes for a moment and draw in a deep breath. When he opens them again, he begins to climb the stairs in stocking feet, and his shaking hand grips the bannister tight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries something new.

Jon lies there, stiff and uncomfortable and faintly aching, and his wide eyes are glued to the ceiling in the warm early morning light.  _ Okay. Alright _ . He tries to slow his racing thoughts and he fails. He steals the quickest of glances to his side and sees Elias’s broad back and the slow and gentle expansion of his ribs.  _ Right. Yes.  _ His eyes return to the ceiling.

Last night… he wasn’t himself. It was like somebody else had the keys to the machinery. But, no, it  _ was _ him, just... a slightly different him. A Jon that was capable of being needy, and hungry, and desperate, and-- Jon squeezes his eyes shut tight. It’s just that before, he was so convinced, so  _ completely _ sure, that there wasn’t anyone out there with whom he was… sexually compatible. But as challenging as it is for him to accept this shocking new truth, he’s surprised to find it strangely welcome. He simply had no idea that it could feel like that. That it could feel that  _ good _ . He takes a deep but quiet breath and thinks back to the night before.

His memories are somewhat cloudy, as if he’s rewatching them through slightly dirty glasses. But he remembers the details of how it started: Elias ushering him into this elegant bedroom; his damp new clothes sticking to his skin; the soft click of the door as it was shut behind him. He remembers watching, his hands still shaking, as Elias stood apart from him and loosened his own tie. Elias never took his eyes off him as he removed his jacket and his waistcoat. As he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. As Jon stared at the hair on his chest, the shape of his trim body, and the pleasing definition in his arms. 

“Jon?” Elias had asked him quietly, as he slowly closed the space between them. Jon had kept his trembling hands at his sides, and had looked into the smouldering heat behind Elias’s eyes and felt alarmed. But he remained frozen in place as Elias reached up to divest Jon of some of his layers too, leaving him in only the white shirt that suddenly felt thin and revealing in its dampness.

And then Elias had reached up to cup the side of his face, and Jon had leaned into his palm and closed his eyes. He went warm inside when he heard Elias’s soft intake of breath at that, and burned hotter still when Elias gently trailed his fingers around the shell of Jon’s ear and down his neck. His other hand had come up, then, to meet the first, and Elias had slowly, carefully undone the button at Jon’s throat. Then it was Jon’s turn to gasp, and Elias caressed him where he was exposed before moving to the next button, and to the next after that.

And when he had finally pushed the damp shirt from Jon’s shoulders, Jon could stand it no longer and slipped his arms around Elias to push warm against him. The contact of skin on skin made him moan a little into Elias’s mouth, which was pressed against his own again. And Jon had lost himself in Elias’s lips and he had allowed himself to be maneuvered, never breaking their connection, to be gently laid down along the bed.

And Elias had pressed himself down on top of him, and Jon was once more reminded of the excitement the man was feeling. That knowledge had made Jon whimper, and he felt his heart rate rise and his breathing quicken with the understanding of what was about to happen. And when Elias sat up and raised himself off of him and moved back down the bed to put his hands on Jon’s belt, the panic had pulled his chest even tighter.

“ _ Hush, Jon _ ,” Elias had whispered, and Jon could only respond with the softest of sounds before he shut his eyes to the clink of his belt, the slow draw of his zipper. And soon enough he was laid bare before Elias, open and vulnerable for him. And it was completely mortifying but Jon found he had instinctively closed his thighs, and had brought his hands up as if he could cover the evidence of what Elias was doing to him. But Elias had just raised his hands to gently coax Jon apart, and had lowered his lips down to press them against Jon’s fingers. 

“It’s alright, Jon,” he had told him. “Let me see,” he had said. And so Jon let his legs fall open, and let his hands fall to his sides, and had heard Elias’s contented soft exhalation. His hips had twitched when Elias’s big warm hand was wrapped around him, and when he felt a hot breath on the damp head of his cock. 

“Look at me,” Elias had asked of him. “ _ Watch _ ,” he had whispered, and Jon had looked down into Elias’s dark eyes as the tip of his prick disappeared between his lips. He couldn’t break the contact, couldn’t sever the bond as Elias slowly, slowly squeezed and pulled at him, and just as slowly bobbed his head to take him in. Jon was panting on every pull, and his fingers clenched at Elias’s silky sheets every time he sucked him softly. 

“ _ Elias _ ,” was all Jon could say, as he raised his head to kiss and suck at Jon’s thighs and hipbones and back to his cock again. The way that he licked at him made Jon feel as if he might lose his mind. 

And then he had watched as Elias reached into his pocket and withdrew a packet of lube, and it had hit him square in the chest that Elias had been expecting this. That it was inevitable, destined,  _ ordained _ that Elias was going to put his cock in him tonight. Jon had moaned at the thought of the intensity of Elias’s desire. 

Elias had left Jon sensitized and squirming as he withdrew to slick his fingers, but soon enough he had returned his hand and his mouth to him. But this time he rubbed a wet finger against his hole, and Jon had hissed at the cool and intimate sensation. His eyes were back on Elias’s and he gasped at both the intrusion into him and the hot flash of Elias’s gaze when he slipped himself inside. Jon felt himself clenching, and then moaning as Elias’s finger immediately found the place that never failed to make him cry out. And soon enough Elias had realized he could slide another finger in alongside the first.

“You take my fingers so well, Jon,” Elias had told him, and Jon’s face went even hotter than it had been before. Elias may not know how shamefully often he had been touching himself there, imagining something hotter and thicker, but Jon certainly did. And then Elias had pushed in a third and it had wiped Jon’s mind of any self-consciousness and worry. His pleasure had pushed its way out of his throat in a long, loud shout.

Elias had worked him until he was soft and hot and open, had left him vibrating on a razor’s edge of pleasure between his hands and his mouth that Elias would never let him tumble off of. He kept him riding that line of ecstasy until he withdrew from him completely, until he was pushing Jon’s legs wide open and pressing his own slick cock against him. 

“You look so lovely like this,” Elias breathed, while he rubbed himself against Jon’s twitching hole. 

“It --  _ ah _ \-- might be time to get your eyes checked,” Jon had replied, and had looked away while his hips hitched helplessly upwards. Elias had held them down, then, to make sure he was the one to decide precisely when to finally push inside of Jon’s hungry body. 

“Jon,” Elias had said then, gazing deep inside him. And then he had asked Jon if he wanted it. And desperate and high and breathy, Jon had said,

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“Of course you do,” Jon thinks he had heard Elias say, but mostly he remembers the thick hot pressure of Elias inside him, the perfect shape and size, bigger than what he had already gotten used to alone and at home. Back in the present, Jon’s face goes warm thinking of it and he resists the urge to bury it in the soft pillow, or in Elias’s inviting back. No one can see his hot blush, he reminds himself, and he stays statue-still there on the bed. He returns to his memory, though.

“ _ Yesss _ ,” Elias himself had hissed as he buried himself in Jon completely. “ _ Breathe _ ,” he had commanded Jon, as he watched the quick rise and fall of Jon’s thin chest in front of him. He stayed there inside of him, pushed as deep as he could go, and waited while Jon worked to unclench his body and his teeth. Elias had leaned down to stroke his face and his sides and his thighs and his cock to try and calm him down enough to take it. He must have been satisfied eventually, because then he began to move.

God, and just like his fingers did, Elias’s cock found the spot that had made his eyes start to prickle with tears. It was like he had access to Jon’s blueprints; like he himself had designed them. 

“R-right there…!” Jon had said.

“I know,” Elias had replied, and Jon had thrown his head back against the soft pillow and he couldn’t keep quiet with Elias’s every slow, deep thrust, fucking him in the way that he’d found he’d liked.  _ Please  _ and  _ yes  _ and  _ god _ , he knew he was moaning. He had never felt anything like it. This was something completely new. 

“ _ How does it feel? _ ” Elias had whispered to him. 

“G-good,” Jon had to admit, softened with pleasure as he was and unable to deny it. 

“ _ What  _ feels good?” Elias asked then, teasingly, and Jon wasn’t sure he could do it.

“Your…” he had tried. “When you--” And Jon decides that he can’t remember exactly what it was that he had said. 

But he had held Elias to him tightly, a hand in his hair and a hand on his shoulder. He’d locked his legs around Elias’s hips and he’d arched his back underneath him as they rubbed together slowly. And his neck was arched too, and Elias had had his lips against Jon’s throat, and Jon lifts his fingers there now and knows he’s been left purple and bruised. 

Near the end of it all, Elias had draped his weight over Jon, had brought his warm hands up to hold Jon’s face between them again. He was so close, and Jon remembers with deep shame the desperation with which he kept trying to lean up to try and press his mouth against Elias’s. But he could only lie there with slack and parted lips, could only breathe against him as Elias held him gently in his hands, rubbing slow soft circles high on his cheeks, under his eyes. 

And Elias wouldn’t allow him to look away, just stared deep into him and Jon was stroked from the inside, as his hard cock was rubbed with every thrust as it was trapped between them. And Jon didn’t realize how close he was to his climax, but soon he was moaning long and loud and helpless as he felt himself clench and squeeze around Elias, as he came warm and copious between them. 

And Jon doesn’t remember anything that came after that. He thinks for a moment that there may have been something a little dishonorable in that; that he’s not entirely sure when and how and  _ where  _ exactly Elias had left the evidence of his pleasure. 

Oh  _ god _ , Elias. Despite his preparation, his clear forethought before the act, Jon wasn’t so sure about it all, now. They had both had quite a bit to drink last night. Neither of them were really in their right minds… perhaps it all might have been some kind of mistake? How could it not be, when he let his  _ boss _ inside of him?

And as Jon begins to panic, he glances down at the result of his little private trip down sexual memory lane, under the sheets. God, if it was all a mistake, he had better leave before he does something  _ really  _ dishonorable to Elias in his sleep. And so he edges out of bed as quietly as he can, gathers his clothes as stealthily as he is able, and tries to dress as quickly as is possible. 

He manages to make it to the door and turn the knob, and as he makes his exit, he feels a gentle prickling on the back of his neck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooaaahh, we're halfway there, whoaaaahh, if you don't want events to escalate any further you might want to bail here.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reads a statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies in advance to Martin-lovers everywhere, and also to people who know more than I do about. How to do. This thing which I have attempted here today. I feel legitimately guilty on both counts.

“My Dear Jonah,

It wounds me deeply, but I fear that I cannot honour our engagement in two weeks’ time. As to my reasons, I must admit that I have been appeasing the others with falsehoods and half-truths. But of anyone with whom we are acquainted, it is you, Jonah, who might not think me mad when I honestly recount the events that have rendered me unable to ride with you again.

At first, I dearly regretted your absence at Kirkley Hall at Martinmas. I understand that you are a man with a great many obligations, and a great many more friends and followers at that. But Jonah, how you would have adored the festivities my dear wife had planned. Dinner was extraordinary, and very much to your tastes. My mind was upon you when the sweetbreads passed my lips, and the tongue as well. Your favourite trifle was also prepared and present.

And how you would have enjoyed the ball, Jonah! Not for the music nor the dancing, although they were both, if I may say, unparalleled. No, it was as if I could hear that laugh with which I have become so familiar when I first laid eyes upon what Miss Harris felt was fit to wear in good company. If only you could have seen it!

But my lamentations at the loss of you reached their fiercest pitch when we sat down to our evening hand of whist. How I wished to have you as my partner that evening, for I have never in all my days seen you suffer a loss. The claret ran freely that night, and you may remember that my weak head for drink has left me in a sorry state on many a night when we’ve played at cards.

But it is my recollection of the following day’s shooting party that makes me now give thanks to God that you were unable to join us in our revelry. 

At first, it seemed that Artemis herself had blessed us with a propitious day for the hunt. The skies were clear and cool, and it was a pleasure to gaze upon their infinite extension across my beloved acres. You recall those sweet mornings, do you not, wherein we’d stroll arm in arm through the gardens, remarking upon its azure depths? But I distract myself, as if I could delay the inevitable recounting of my memories of that day.

Despite the providential weather, my fortunes soon changed in the smallest and most peculiar of ways. At first, I could not locate my gun, which may seem an immaterial complaint, but know that I have never before misplaced my weapon. How it found its way to rest upon my bed, to this day I do not know. But at the time I thought very little of it, as once we began our ride, all thoughts and anxieties flew from my head. I find that it is always the case once astride a powerful animal.

But all was not well, Jonah, and the events that followed soon proved that to be the case. 

My troubles continued when I found that my gun refused to discharge as I commanded it. All of my attention was upon the loading and reloading of my weapon, I swear it to you. And yet, shot after shot would flash but not properly fire, despite my careful cleaning of the gun. I remained undisturbed, though, and resolved to enjoy the ride if not the shooting. But soon a fox darted out before me, and I felt compelled to give chase despite the condition of my weapon.

It was a wild and treacherous ride across my grounds, Jonah, and I wish that I could recall more of the leaps and bounds, the twists and turns. Alas, all I can remember is the scream of my horse as it tumbled in a ditch, and the agony of its landing upon my leg. 

But what I remember most, and shall certainly never forget, is the face of the fox as it stalked back to my prone body as if to revel in my pain. It approached me readily, and came to stand quite close, so I know I was not mistaken. For you see, Jonah, this fox had upon its face the eyes of a man.

And those eyes looked down upon me with the intelligence, the attention, and the knowledge that you and I possess. 

Now, you may disregard my words as the ramblings of a man made delirious through injury, but what I beheld that day was no phantom, nor apparition. And perhaps you would be more inclined towards belief if you knew what horrors were yet to come.

It was many hours until my rescuers came upon me. I had somehow fallen in a place so secluded and remote that the other riders had never passed it by. They only began their search when it became apparent I had not returned from the ride. I was left to lie in the growing dark to contemplate the nature of my pain. When I closed my eyes, I could only see those of my fox.

When at long last I lay convalescent upon my bed, sleep refused to claim me. But were it able, I would have surely been awakened by the noise that soon grew in the night. It began as something low and unintelligible, but then it rose in sound and in volume to form a clear scrabbling, sniffing, screaming outside my window. 

At first I feared those noises had their origin inside my own confused mind. I resolved to lie still a little and see if sleep would save me, or if the sounds would soon dissipate. But the sounds did not stop, Jonah. They only increased in their power. 

I do not know how long I lay there, waiting for the noise to end. It seemed like hours, a lifetime, an eternity, and still the most horrifying and inhuman chorus would not abate. I closed my eyes, I spoke aloud to myself, I coughed and sang, but I could not drown out its droning. Soon enough I could stand it no more, and endeavoured to call for help.

I rang and rang and rang the bell by my bed to summon a servant, a guest, my wife, and yet no one would answer my call. I could not even hear the barking of my faithful hound. I began to yell, to scream, but nothing could drown those horrible sounds that rose from the grounds.

I lay a while longer, but it soon felt as if my mind had begun to unravel itself inside of me. I soon feared that if I had to suffer there a moment longer, I would be compelled to thrust whatever implement came to hand inside my ears. No, I could bear it no longer, and despite my injury I seized my walking stick and stumbled from my bed. 

It was a torturously slow descent down the staircase. As much care as I attempted to show my newly ruined leg, it seemed as though the maddening sound served to undermine me. Indeed, it was as if I could not maintain my grip upon the stick. Insufficient as it was to bear my weight, I plunged halfway down the staircase, and landed in an agonizing heap at its foot. Those dreadful noises had reached a deafening pitch. 

I crawled towards the entrance, dragging my ruined leg behind me. I would do anything, suffer any degree of pain to bring about the end of that nightmare sound. Soon enough I reached the doors and pushed upon them as best I could, and they flew open. The darkness of the night was too deep to peer through, and with great difficulty I pulled my useless body to a table to grasp a candle. I turned the flame upon the gaping doors to find the source of the maddening noise.

In the glowing nimbus of light before me I saw eyes. Hundreds, thousands of glittering eyes. And as my own grew accustomed to the dark, I saw that they were the eyes of large and lurking hares. Upon my grounds that night there was more animal than darkness. And in the midst of these staring beasts, there stood a shape: hulking, black, and unknowable. 

At this I turned inside and barred my doors.

And so I hope you will understand, Jonah, why I shall not be able to ride with you soon. Nor, I think, ever again.

I beg to remain, Sir, your most humble and obedient servant,

S. G. Stafford.”

The sound that Jon makes when he finishes the statement is small and unimpressed. 

“Statement ends. Perhaps the claret ran a little _too_ freely that night,” he grumbles into the tape recorder. “There’s no way of knowing now, and it’s as reasonable an explanation as any other. End recording.” 

“Oh, Jon! There you are.” Martin’s thrown the door open with suspiciously convenient timing, as if maybe he had been outside of Jon’s office waiting to hear the magic words that signalled the end of his work. 

“In my office? Yes,” Jon says. 

“Right! Yeah, of course,” squeaks Martin, sounding a little chastised, and rightly so. Where _else_ would he be. “Because I was just. I was just wondering, if, ah, you were free tonight?” Jon stares at him for a moment. The effects of this promotion on his social life had really never occurred to him. Martin soldiers on.

“Because I had this idea just now, and I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my place and see a movie?” The final clause tumbles out of his mouth sounding more like one very long, very rushed word. Jon adjusts his glasses. 

“Hm. Alright,” he says, after a pause. Maybe it’s better to have something to do, these days. If something else comes up, for some reason, he can say that he isn’t free. He does spare a brief moment to consider notions of “professionalism” and “hierarchy” and decides he’s really not _that_ much of a hypocrite. It doesn’t look like that was the answer Martin was expecting.

“Oh!” he says. “R-really? Fantastic!” he says, and he shuffles out of the room backwards before he tells Jon where his flat is and what time he should arrive there. Jon sighs and moves to go after him.

***

“Well,” Jon says, from where he’s perched awkwardly on the sofa. “What did you want to watch?” 

“Oh!” he hears Martin exclaim from the kitchen where he’s making popcorn, as if he’s forgotten the point of the whole exercise. “I was thinking, um… Pride and Prejudice…?” Jon takes a moment to consider that particular choice.

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I… I thought it would be… fun? It only just occurred to me…” says Martin absently. Jon is fine with it, he supposes, as long as it isn’t--

“The 2005 version, Martin, really?” he says, when Martin tosses him the DVD case. “After the liberties taken with the period and costuming? When we could--”

“You’re a Colin Firth fan, are you?” Martin asks with a little laugh. “Sorry, this is all I’ve got. You’re right though, he _is_ cuter than Matthew Macfadyen.” When Jon just stares at him in response he hides his face in his hands and apologises way too many times and says that he’s joking. Jon puts the movie on to see if it’ll make him stop.

They watch in silence for some time and Jon tries not to be distracted by Martin’s constant fidgeting. Neither of them have gone for the popcorn at all, and it looks like it’s gone a bit soggy in all the butter Martin put in. Jon sighs as quietly as he can manage. This’ll teach him to accept invitations willy-nilly. This, or something else, more likely. He tunes back in to the film.

_“From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others, made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry_ ,” a moist Keira Knightley is saying. Martin makes a small sound of what is presumably amusement. Jon decides to voice his idle curiosity.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. Martin’s face undergoes a series of quick scene changes more engaging than those of the film itself. First he inhales deeply and blinks twice, slowly. Then he cocks his head and furrows his eyebrows, after which he purses his lips as if to hold something back. He blinks rapidly now, and then finally turns back towards the television on his exhale. Throughout this entire performance, his cheeks, ears, and neck had turned from pale to pink to red. Jon raises an eyebrow and turns back to the screen, too. It’s times like these he almost wishes he could see inside the heads of others. Maybe then he’d have a better understanding of whatever it was that was going _on_. 

When the film finally comes to an end and the credits roll, Jon feels his phone vibrate. 

_Ah_.

“Jon, who… who else even has your number?” Martin says with a laugh. Jon doesn’t quite appreciate the tone. 

“I… lots of people have my number,” he says, frowning, and Martin’s eyes crinkle at the edges with soft amusement. 

“Name one person who has your number.”

“Er. Tim?”

“Tim is texting you?” 

“No?” Jon might need a way out of this soon. But the smile seems to have left Martin’s face, so maybe he’s had his fun.

“I-it’s alright Jon, you don’t have to tell me,” he says softly. _Good_ , Jon thinks. He keeps staring down at the message he’s received, and Martin sounds like he might have regained a little of that lost steam. “Is it. Is it, ah, anything important? Because I was hoping you might… stay? I have a copy of Persuasion, if you’d like? Probably not in the mood for Northanger Abbey tonight...” He’s beginning to ramble. “I could make--”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Martin. I do need to go,” Jon says. “Thank you, though, it was, ah. Yes,” he finishes ineloquently. And he gathers his things and presses “send” on his answer to one “E.B.” that he is on his way.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The horse was o.k.! No horses were harmed in the making of this chapter. Stafford was not o.k. (He died. Jonah!!!) Sorry again to Martin and the early 19th century!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias is surprised.

Jon’s sitting in front of Elias in his office, his body tight with tension, and Elias can feel the wanting roll off of him in waves.

If he, hypothetically, had to articulate the experience to an individual untouched by the Eye, how would he do so? If he had to explain the ability to gather the thoughts and the feelings that fall from Jon’s mind like petals from a flower, would he describe it as analogous to the more prosaic human senses?

There’s certainly something to it, he must admit. It is almost as if he could breathe deep and inhale the scent of Jon’s desire rising from his hungry body like pheromones; like a dog in heat. But in all his many lifetimes, he can’t recall a smell that’s almost dizzying as it seeps slowly inside.

And he could say that the taste of Jon’s need rests thick and pleasing in his mouth, but he’s certain that he hasn’t known a treat as sweet as this one. Maybe it’s closest to hearing, as words fall fully-formed into him. But it’s not exactly so: there’s music in this that can only truly rise from Jon as his instrument. 

And he can almost grasp the shape of them; of every thought and feeling that Jon projects. How fond he’s grown of experimenting, of seeing what he can say and do to run his hands through the different textures of Jon’s being. Sometimes he’ll get stung or pricked by him, and sometimes he’ll pull his fingers away burnt and singed. And if he’s very careful with him, sometimes he can draw from Jon something soft and warm and pliant. 

Ultimately, it’s like he can see his pupils dilate, but in new and other eyes. 

He smiles to himself as he imagines how in days long past he would be overwhelmed by this new input; how at first he’d gasp and tremble and have to excuse himself to lie prone and disentangle the desires of others from his own. But by now he’s had more than enough experience with the onslaught of adoration that’s seeped from toys he’s tinkered with and outlived, and can now simply enjoy Jon’s fevered cravings like a warm summer breeze.

It almost feels like an invitation, the way Jon’s thoughts simmer before him. Elias pities him a little. He still struggles with his guilt and his shame, as if Elias hasn’t already beheld the deepest parts of him. Perhaps he’ll show a little mercy. Jon’s thoughts feel as good as any invitation. He uncrosses his legs and watches Jon’s eyes flick momentarily downward, and his throat twitches on a tight swallow.

“Is there something you need, Jon?” Elias asks him. He lets the ensuing pause stretch on as long as it needs to. Jon’s answer, when it comes, is surprisingly firm.

“...No,” he says, his voice steady. Elias raises an eyebrow, and feels the corner of his mouth rise with it.

“Mm?” Elias is almost impressed by Jon’s attempt at resolve. But he wonders if Jon is capable of aligning his actions with these firm words and thoughts.

“No, I--I…” He clears his throat and begins again. “No, I’m perfectly alright,” he finishes.

_ Well _ . He certainly sounds serious about it. Elias checks if he’s serious about it.

_ We can’t keep doing this _ , Jon is thinking.  _ It’s not right _ . There’s pride there, there’s still a shining sliver of pride within him, and it won’t allow him to sink down and gratefully accept what Elias is offering him. 

_ I need to reassert control _ , he hears Jon think to himself. He’s finding it so very hard to stay in control. He doesn’t want to be beholden to the desires of his body. He doesn’t wish to lose himself to pleasure. He can see how easy it would be to do so. Elias suppresses a sweet shiver at the fear suffusing that insight.

He thinks it’s distracting him from his work, and Elias almost has to force himself to remember not to react audibly to thoughts unvoiced.  _ Really _ .  _ He thinks that  _ this  _ has been distracting _ .

_ It’s unprofessional _ , Jon thinks, and Elias has heard that one before. Jon thinks that it’s not  _ him _ . It’s not who he thinks he is. It’s not who he wants to be. 

And so he gets up, grabs his things, and leaves Elias alone in his quiet office.

At the soft click of the closing of his door, Elias removes his glasses and carefully cleans the lenses. Is there a chance, he wonders, that he’s pushed Jon too far? He could not possibly be more aware of the stakes of this enterprise. He’s never before been one for instant gratification, but had he slipped when gratification had been so very close at hand? A mistake here was simply out of the question; he had been waiting so very long, and was so sure that this time, this Archivist was the perfect choice. Had he become so used to being given what he wants that he’s grown complacent?

No. 

No, this wasn’t a miscalculation. This wasn’t a setback, but an opportunity. He could work with this. 

If Jon wants so badly to go without, then Elias could easily starve him. He may not want it right now, but Elias knows the depths of his need. He wonders how desperate he can make him. He wonders how long it’ll take to make him beg. 

He places his glasses on his desk with a gentle click. It’s hard not to laugh.

***

He starts the week easy. 

He knows he could break Jon quickly, but he wants to provide him with a challenge to see how he’ll react. And after all, time and time again he’s discovered the sweetness that comes of waiting. Because in the end, he doesn’t even  _ need  _ to wait. He could  _ make  _ Jon bend to his will, but that’s not quite the point, is it? There is much that Jon will have to discover on his own, and Elias cannot push him across that finish line. He can only gently direct him to their goal. No, it’ll be fascinating to see what Jon will do with what he’s given. He’ll make his choice. Elias isn’t worried.

The first thing he does is call Jon into his office. 

“Elias,” Jon says coldly, as he sits in front of his desk. “I thought I’d made it clear, I’m not interested in--”

“Oh no, Jon,” Elias says, warmly. He enjoys how Jon thinks his indignation at his presumptuousness is all that he’s projecting. “I assure you that I’m all business today.” Jon looks at him with skepticism. 

“Oh…?” he says.

“Yes. In fact, it’s regarding our business end of things. You see, I’ve been going over your expenditures.”

“I trust everything was in order,” Jon says stuffily. 

“Well, no,” says Elias. “That’s precisely the problem.” Jon furrows his brow like he’s taken offence at the way the numbers added up. “I’ve noticed a few… discrepancies in last month’s accounts.”

“What?” Jon asks in disbelief. “There’s no way.” 

“I think you’ll find that there is,” says Elias smoothly, and he slides a spreadsheet across his desk. Jon begins with mortified protestations of how _ he would never. _ But he soon stops to adjust his glasses and inspect the rows and columns before him.

It’s a small thing, really quite petty, and at any other time Elias would have easily overlooked the error and quietly corrected it himself with no great fanfare. However, Jon still owes him  _ some _ form of amusement. And if Elias happened to provide him with a… distraction when he was doing his paperwork, well.

The degree to which Jon is uncomfortable with the situation is amusing indeed, and Elias interrupts his stuttered excuses once again.

“Now Jon, I know it’s only the case of a decimal point in a place it’s not wanted. I understand it seems a paltry amount, but we wouldn’t want sloppy bookkeeping to become a habit, would we? It all adds up in the end.” His admonishing words seem to have a spectacular effect on Jon. He turns red and averts his eyes and every single thing Elias learns about this man makes him all the more hungry for him.

And so he rises from his desk and moves to stand beside Jon, and he reaches down to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You’ll do better, won’t you?” he says to him, softly. Jon doesn’t move to shove off his hand. Elias finds that he is captivated by the sudden desire to tangle his fingers in the loose hairs at the back of Jon’s neck and pull, but he restrains himself. This will have to do for now.

When Jon gives a small and uncharacteristically diffident nod to that, Elias claps him on the back amicably.

“Of course you will.” Would it be too much to follow up with a  _ run along, now?  _ Perhaps it’s not necessary. 

Jon follows the command on his own without being told.

***

Elias ups the ante as the week goes by.

“You seem tense,” he tells Jon conversationally and in passing, on Tuesday. Elias doesn’t want to reward him with too much physical contact too early in the game, and he’s not close enough to certain that Jon will allow him to put his hands on him so boldly now. But he doesn’t need to give Jon the real thing. He can simply gift him with what will pass as a fantasy, as a daydream, of Elias sliding up behind him and loosening him up with a massage. 

It might be preferable to simply  _ show  _ Jon that he knows all of the sore spots that linger inside him, and that he knows exactly how much pressure to put on him to relieve him of that tension. But Jon will have to be content with imagining Elias’s fingers pressing hard against him to release those knots. 

He’ll earn the real thing later.

***

By midweek he calls a staff meeting, ostensibly to update his subordinates on the financial future of the Institute. But he takes a moment -- a rather long moment -- to sing the praises of the new Head Archivist. 

Jon’s head snaps towards him and he glares at Elias like he knows what he’s been up to. That thought sends a soft shudder of pleasure down his spine. And upon entering Jon's head and hearing  _ he’s doing this on purpose _ to confirm that it’s so, Elias has to clench his fingers into a fist by his side. 

***

On Thursday, the gloves come off.

Elias rifles through the fantasies Jon’s grown himself in that garden of his mind that was born of a single cutting. He marvels at the variety, the intensity, the profundity of the need he sees buried there. It’s really no wonder that Jon fears what Elias wants to give him. 

And so he runs his fingers through fertile earth. He nourishes the ground he treads upon. And yet his dampening of it only serves to increase Jon’s desperate thirst. 

Elias prunes and shapes and sculpts what’s blossoming inside him.

And he opens a window, and waits for the flower to turn towards the sun.

***

When Friday night arrives, Elias packs his things with a strong sense of personal satisfaction. He’s worked quite hard this week, and feels very strongly that his efforts will be rewarded. But his work is never done, he knows, and he really doesn’t mind taking it home with him on the weekend. 

He suspects that Jon won’t either.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is taken somewhere new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that warning from a few chapters ago where I was like, oh, Elias, consent, alcohol? Okay that again but this time with drugs. Also unlike that other chapter there’s only so much, uh, research? I can do for this. So please excuse any. Inaccuracies.

“It’s dark and it’s hazy in the long, narrow rooms,” Jon whispers into the tape recorder in his hand. He pushes aside a heavy velvet curtain and steps over a prone body. He can’t stop its face from slipping from his mind. The carpet feels thick and plush under his bare feet and on every inhale he feels his mind go soft and light.

“Candles in the corners illuminate recumbent forms, but not the one I seek,” Jon continues, in a voice that’s not all his own. He can’t say that he’s sure about who it is he’s looking for, or how he would know once he found him. None of these faces are registering with him-- not a single one.

He feels a buzzing in his head, not altogether unpleasant and like static. It’s getting hard to keep his eyes open but he presses on, deeper and deeper into the warren of indistinguishable rooms that all seem to pulse and glow a rich and steady red. 

“The smell of burning and of bodies lies thick and cloying in these halls, and every now and then a groan can be heard, anchoring the floating minds of these men to their flesh.” Jon turns his head from the recorder and coughs a little from the smoke. He ventures into the deepest, darkest depths of the rooms. “The men here,” he starts, unsteady. “T-these aren’t the groans of men ascending past agony, but--” 

As he pushes his way through scraps and veils of silk that gently brush his face, he feels a pull deep in his guts to the back of the room. There’s a man there, and he’s reclining luxuriously on a big pile of pillows. There are men all around him and their hands are upon his person. Jon can’t see any of their faces. But he can see the eyes of the man in the middle of it all.

“I’ve found him,” Jon says, into the tape recorder.

Who it is exactly that he’s found, Jon is still not sure. But the man lies back in his shirt and his waistcoat, and the slim fingers of another are slowly unbuttoning him one by one. Jon positions himself behind a thick column and waits to watch and to observe. 

“The man on the pillows is beautiful, and his long, lean, young body is being caressed endlessly from all sides,” Jon says. And now the man draws a long pipe to his lips and he breathes, and Jon watches his eyes slip closed on the exhale. When he places the pipe back down on a silver tray, he is divested of his waistcoat, and he leans back down again. 

After another draw from the pipe the man slowly pulls the stick pin from his cravat, and then he allows the garment to be pulled from around his throat with a soft silky sound. Another man leans down to press a kiss to his reddened lips. As he pulls away, the beautiful man’s hands come up to hold the other man’s face in place while he slowly presses the sharp tip of the pin against him, high on his cheekbone, beneath his eye. He drags the pin slowly and gently down his face, leaving no mark. But when he gets to his lips, he pushes in just so, and Jon can see a small bright bead of blood bloom there. The man on the pillows leans forward to suck the other man’s lower lip into his mouth; to lick the wetness clean. Jon hears himself gasp quietly. 

A new pair of hands slides his braces off his shoulders, while another travels down his long torso. When those fingers reach his trousers they untuck his shirt and slide up underneath it, slowly stroking his sides. He throws his head back and Jon can almost feel the man’s moan reverberating inside of him. Jon needs so badly to cough at the smoke in the room, but he doesn’t want to make his presence known, or to break the spell that’s bewitching the men on the floor. He wants to stand here and watch and whisper what he sees onto his tape. But with all the bodies surrounding him, Jon’s view of that lovely, perfect form is obscured. He tries to reposition himself in the room, sliding through the shadows to find a better view. 

“Ah,” he breathes, the tape recorder at his lips. Someone has gently lifted one of the lovely man’s wrists, and is unbuttoning him there now. His sleeve is pushed up his arm and his hand is lifted higher and suddenly there’s a mouth at his fingertips. Jon makes a soft sound into the tape recorder as those fingers disappear past a pair of lips that suck them slowly, one by one. Soft kisses are left on their tips.

When the man’s hands are done being lavishly loved they’re back on the pipe and now Jon can’t see exactly what it is that’s going on; what all those hands are doing with the buttons on the pretty man’s trousers. So he exits the shadows and moves closer and closer, because he has to see, he has to know what he’s missing with every passing moment. 

And he’s found he’s drifted so far forward in the musty dark that he’s practically standing above the writhing mass of men on the floor. The bodies part for him, exposing the lovely man spread across the pillows. His collar’s open and his hair’s in disorder and his legs are splayed lazily apart. And he looks up into Jon and lifts up a hand to beckon him forward and down. 

“...And I am helpless to resist.” The words are almost forced out of Jon and his voice sounds broken and wrecked to his own ears. The other men meld into the darkness and Jon lowers himself shakily down at the man’s side. This was the right decision: up close he can see and smell and taste so much more. 

The man’s skin is radiant in its purity and it’s glittering in the candlelight in the places where his sweat gathers. Jon leans down and presses his forehead against the side of the man’s face and he inhales when his nose meets his temple. He smells spicy and warm and human and Jon slides his lips across him there in what’s barely a kiss. He feels dizzy and he closes his eyes.

He blindly draws his lips over the man’s high cheekbones and his soft pink cheeks, and down his jaw where the slightest bit of stubble’s growing. He rubs his lips there to feel the rough texture of it but his eyes are forced open when the man pulls away. But Jon’s little sound of distress at that was not so necessary because the man’s picked up the pipe one more time to breathe deep from it. When he turns back to Jon he takes his chin in his fingers and tips Jon’s head up. Jon feels lips against his own and he opens for them greedily and he drinks down what he’s given. 

The smoke curls through his very being, through his lungs and through his brain. The man smokes his pipe again and pushes his mouth against Jon’s again and after he draws the smoke into his own lungs once more he melts against the man’s lips. It’s like he’s not muscle and bone anymore, but something else, something new, an idea, a concept, a thought, a ghost. He lets the man slip his tongue into him and his mind buzzes and it sings. But the song is soft and gentle and Jon presses his body along the other man’s. 

When their hips meet they both moan into the mouth of the other, and they rub slowly against each other for what might be forever. Jon slides his hands up and under the other man’s shirt where he’s so warm, and the man holds Jon’s face gently between his palms. When their lips part again Jon looks up into the man’s face and he furrows his brow. There’s something off about the eyes. 

But he breathes more smoke into him and  _ Jon’s _ eyes roll back in his head from it. He’s barely aware of the man’s hands unbuttoning and unzipping him and drawing his cock out into the dark of the room. The man’s elegant fingers are long and dextrous and they grip him just so. And Jon sighs in pleasure and parts his thighs a little as the man strokes him slow and luxurious. 

His breathing is slow but his panting is loud, but underneath his low moaning he can still hear that whirring sound he’s come to know so well. His head tips lazily to the side and he sees the tape recorder lying so near to his face. It’s no longer in him to worry about it, no longer in him to care. He just gazes at it, blinking slowly, as his body grows hotter and looser with every stroke of his cock. 

And that’s when the man climbs on top of him, his legs splayed loose on either side of Jon’s hips. Jon moves to reach up and put his hands on the man’s waist, or to wrap his fingers around his prick that can be seen pushing against the shirt that’s draped over it. But the man’s collected the tape recorder and pressed it into Jon’s hands. Jon rests it against his chest and he watches, fixated, as the man reaches behind him to grip Jon’s cock where it rests pressed against the bare parts of him. 

Jon’s thumbs stroke the sides of the recorder mindlessly and his hips barely twitch upwards, pressed down as they are under the man’s weight. His whimpers grow higher and his mind grows messier and he’s coming long and loud for the man who’s above him and manipulating him with such skill. His eyes flutter closed and he lies there and he breathes, and then the beautiful man takes the tape recorder from Jon’s trembling hands, presses its bright red button, and whispers into it,

“ _ Jon _ .”

***

The door in front of Jon opens for him before he has time to knock. Good. Saves time. 

“Hello, J--” is all Elias can get out before Jon stalks inside, slams the door behind him and shoves Elias against the wall as he once did before. But unlike the last time, Jon drops down in front of him, hard and to his knees.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he hears himself saying, angrily. It’s no use. It’s the truth.

“Jon, I’m truly flattered, but--” Elias tries to say.

“I can’t get you out of my  _ head _ ,” Jon says, and he hates how desperate he sounds as he undoes the button on Elias’s trousers; pulls down the zipper. Elias got hard fast. Maybe Jon’s not the only one with one single, all-consuming thought invading his mind.

“ _ Really _ , Jon?” says Elias. Jon doesn’t appreciate the admonishing, slightly patronizing tone of his voice. He doesn’t think it’ll last long, though. 

“All week-- you were all-- I could  _ think  _ about--” Jon says, leaning down to put his lips on Elias’s cock in between his words. He hears Elias’s soft hiss above him. Good. That’s better. “At work-- at home-- in the morning when I wake up, and at night when I--” He leans forward to take the tip of Elias’s prick between his lips. He feels Elias’s cock jump where his hand’s wrapped around it.

“Jon,” Elias wheezes. “Jon, don’t you think we should  _ ahh _ \--” And Jon hears a  _ thump  _ as Elias’s head presumably hits the wall behind him, because Jon’s taken him as deep as he is now able. But Elias’s cock doesn’t stay in his throat for long, because he grabs Jon’s hair with both hands and drags his mouth off of him.

“Don’t you think we should head upstairs?” Elias whispers, his eyes bright and blazing.

Jon nods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this sick playlist I made a while back. I listened to it while making what is now my. 21 page long outline for this fic!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/64nsYtiQkIKWHKFfVTydJB?si=gwM8qvnxRCCgvKZKnZFzJQ


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias breaks his toy.

In the end, Elias had had to bodily haul Jon from the floor and carry him up the stairs. Jon had wrapped his arms around Elias’s neck and his legs around his waist. The ease of lifting his slightness was counteracted by how he had rubbed himself against Elias and how Jon couldn’t keep his lips off his neck and ears and cheeks. But they made it up the stairs again, and Elias knew it was all going to go a little differently, this time around.

It would seem that he didn’t need the wine to loosen Jon anymore. A constant barrage of punishment and pleasure, of withholding and indulgence seemed to do the trick nicely. No longer did he need to gentle Jon into this. The man would’ve torn the buttons from his shirt if Elias hadn’t grabbed his wrists to slow him down. Oh, he’ll give Jon what he needs tonight. 

But all in good time.

“Now now, Jon,” Elias says, affecting a testy tone, and he throws Jon onto the bed with as much care as he knows Jon wants. “Let’s exert a little self-control, shall we?” He loosens his tie with one hand as he stands above Jon, staring down into his wide-open eyes. He takes his time unbuttoning his own shirt and watches Jon try and match his speed with shaking fingers. 

“Y-yes,” Jon whispers, voice sounding fucked out  _ already _ . “Alright.” 

“ _ Very _ good,” Elias tells him, and Jon closes his eyes and he shivers. But as Jon works his own shirt open, Elias reaches down to divest him of his trousers. Jon is as hard as he is and wet at the tip too, and Elias immediately leans down and pushes Jon’s legs up by the backs of his thighs. Jon can’t even get his shirt off; he just falls back with it wide open, leaving his chest exposed. Elias takes a chance, and it’s calculated.

“Hold yourself open for me,” he whispers. There’s a moment where Elias is genuinely worried that he might have overstepped, but then Jon turns his face to the side from the shame that still has him in a vice, and he slips his hands under his knees. Elias rewards him with a smile, and a long finger against his hole. 

He finds wetness there.

“Oh,  _ Jon _ ,” Elias breathes, in genuine, honest surprise. It is a very rare thing for him to feel. But instead of savouring the novelty of the moment, he finds himself experiencing a mild resentment. To have watched Jon carefully, desperately finger himself open for him in real time would have been incredible. He’ll just have to pull the memory from him later, to immerse himself in that private pleasure at some other date. 

“It’s-- I--” Jon starts, thoroughly reddened, and Elias doesn’t need to check, because he can feel palpable embarrassment radiating off of him in the way that any normal man could. “It’s not about… it’s just  _ hygienic _ ,” Jon insists, but this time Elias employs those powers that set him apart from any normal man. And  _ oh _ , inside himself Jon’s mind is a wild blur of words and thoughts and needs.  _ I couldn’t, I couldn’t wait a moment longer, I need it, I need you now, oh please, I want it now now now Elias  _ please--

Elias opens his eyes and he smiles at Jon, who has scrambled up onto his knees in his embarrassment and his humiliation. Elias lifts a hand to gently rest his fingertips against Jon’s cheek.

“Of course, Jon,” he breathes, and as Jon leans forward with closed eyes, ready to receive whatever Elias will give him, Elias leans back and unfolds himself along the bed. Jon’s eyes flutter open and he looks down at where Elias has freed his straining prick, the sight of it still bringing pink to Jon’s cheeks and a small hitch to his breath. 

“ _ Take what you need _ ,” Elias says.

And Jon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and he spreads his thighs, his knees on either side of Elias’s hips. Elias puts his hands behind his head, pleased, and doesn’t make a move to help Jon as he reaches behind himself to position Elias’s cock against his ready hole. And Elias would enter Jon while he, well,  _ enters  _ Jon, but he’s legitimately worried this whole thing will be over far too soon if he experiences this relief and pleasure and wholeness, doubled.

So instead Elias watches Jon with his eyes alone as he cries out cracked and broken the moment he takes Elias within him. And he listens, enraptured, as Jon lets out a long and lovely sigh as he feels Elias slide all the way inside. Jon takes a moment like that, filled up with Elias’s cock, and Elias watches his pleasingly thick eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and his throat bob on a hard swallow. And then Jon begins to clench and twitch around him as he circles and hitches his hips in the tiniest of movements to feel Elias rub against every part of him. He makes high and choked off little noises when he presses Elias’s cock someplace good.

“Oh  _ yes _ , Jon,” is all Elias can say, as Jon lifts himself higher up on his knees as he begins to ride Elias slow. His shirt’s slipping seductively off one shoulder and his eyebrows are drawn together as he’s suffused with feeling. Elias watches the roll of his hips and the delicious little shivers that shock through Jon’s body and now he can’t help but touch. He slowly slides his palms up Jon’s splayed thighs and up to his hips. He won’t touch Jon’s cock, no, not yet, not when he’s taken his lower lip between his teeth like that to try and stifle the sweet little sounds that should be spilling from his lips.

So he grabs Jon’s hips, now, and he hauls him forward as he slides himself backwards, repositioning them so that Elias is leaning against the headboard and looking up into Jon’s face. Jon cries out at the sudden and unexpected shifting of Elias inside of him, and Elias likes that  _ very _ much. He slowly slides his hands up Jon’s sides, underneath the shirt that’s already dampening with sweat from his exertions. His hands explore higher and he takes a moment to play with Jon’s chest. Jon flinches away, sensitive, but he’s biting his lip again and Elias isn’t having any of it.

He finally reaches up and he slips his thumb into Jon’s mouth, parting his lips. He pushes in further, forcing Jon’s teeth that want so badly to clench together apart. Jon cringes at the sounds he’s making that he cannot hide, but it snaps something in Elias, who now lifts up both hands to tangle his fingers in Jon’s hair and drag him down to put his lips on him. He needs to taste those moans. This time he pushes his tongue between Jon’s lips and teeth. Jon sucks on it. He permits Jon to taste a moan or two of his own.

But now Jon’s starting to slow, and he’s back to weakly pushing his hips against Elias’s. His temples are sweaty and his lips have gone slack; he’s breathing heavy and his thighs are trembling gently. Elias falls into his mind and he chuckles into Jon’s mouth. The poor man’s exhausted himself already, from just this. There’s something about that brutal combination of the weakness of Jon’s flesh and his spirit that ignites something ravenous in Elias. Without warning he pushes Jon down on the bed; doesn’t even break their connection before he has his hands underneath Jon’s knees this time. He folds him in half and he fucks him hard, the way he deserves.

“ _ Ah, ah, Elias _ ,” Jon whimpers, as he’s fucked into without mercy. “ _ God _ , fuck,” he says, and Elias leans down to kiss him again. He loves how Jon lies back and takes his cock so well, and he tells him so. Jon’s noises get louder and more indecent. “ _ Please _ ,” he begs, and Elias will give him anything he wants.

“Hm?” he asks, strained.

“Please, Elias, please,” Jon tries. “Slower,” he gasps.

“Does it hurt?” Elias asks, needing him to spell out every detail of his desire. He can’t help but give Jon one last brutal thrust before stilling inside him. 

“No, I,” Jon tries, needing to slow his breathing and his heart. “I want it to last…” Elias can barely hear him but he won’t make him repeat it this time. Jon doesn’t want it to be over too quickly. Elias can do that for him. That’s a wish he’s more than happy to make come true.

“Of course,” Elias says, a little patronizingly. “Turn around,” he continues, in the same tone. Jon looks a little affronted, but his need must outstrip his indignation and he does as Elias commands. Elias crowds up behind him where he’s on his hands and knees, and he waits. “ _ Do you want it? _ ” he whispers, low and a little nasty.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Jon admits, helpless.

“Then show me,” Elias says, and he rests his hands on Jon’s hips, neither pushing nor pulling. Jon makes a hurt sound, a sound of real defeat, and he rolls his hips back. Elias slides in easy and they both moan. 

Elias closes his eyes for a moment and luxuriates in the feeling of Jon taking him in like this, groaning deep in his chest. When he opens them again, Jon is sliding his knees a little farther apart, spreading his legs wider and angling his hips to take Elias even deeper. He holds himself as still as he is able, letting Jon do all the work, fucking himself sweetly on Elias’s cock again and again. Elias is finding it harder and harder to calculate his next move against Jon, now. It’s troublingly easy to just do as he pleases.

“It feels so good inside you, Jon,” he says, because he wants to. “And what about you? Does it feel good to let go? To give it up for me?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Jon moans. 

“What was that?” Elias says, soaring.

“ _ Yes!”  _ he says again. Elias brings his palm down against Jon to hear the crack and to make him say it once more. “ _ Yesss _ ,” he whimpers, after a little yelp, and it’s so shattered and filthy. Elias folds his body over Jon’s and finally puts his hand on his cock.

“Did you --  _ nng _ \-- did you wait for me, Jon?” Elias asks him, draped over his body and whispering into his ear. “Or were you a whore without me there to take care of you?” His voice is low and mean and he knows they both like it.

“No,” Jon insists, high and desperate. “No, Elias, I swear, it’s you, only you.” Elias squeezes his cock harder and jacks him faster. 

“If you’re  _ this _ much of a slut, you might need more. Perhaps I could lend you out,” he says, to see what will happen. 

“No, Elias  _ please _ , I… I only want you,” Jon says. 

“Good,” Elias says. “ _ So _ good,” and he knows that Jon is about to come so he stops. Jon cries out.

He plays with Jon like this for a while, rubbing inside him slowly, jacking his cock along with his thrusts, and then he stops. And then he flips Jon over again and fucks him hard and fast, squeezing him and pulling him. And then he stops. He does this again and again and again, until Jon asks, barely coherent,

“Why _ , please _ .”

“You wanted it to last, Jon,” Elias reminds him, sounding as steady as he can.

“H-how… how are you doing that,” Jon says, his eyes shining with tears unshed. Elias smiles gently.

“You’re just so easy and open like this, Jon,” Elias tells him, and Jon sobs with the humiliation of it.

“ _ P-please _ ,” he begs again, whispering the words. 

“You’re so very disagreeable and rude out there, to me and to everyone else, Jon. Why can’t you be this sweet and obedient all the time?” Elias asks him, sounding downright conversational up against Jon’s hot, wrecked tone. Now the tears are shed. “But maybe you can be,” Elias muses, and files away some possibilities for a later experiment. “ _ But you’ve been so very good for me now _ ,” he whispers. 

And then he finally, finally makes Jon come harder and longer than he ever has before. Twice as hard as ever, twice as long in fact, as he gifts Jon with an unnatural pleasure that he has surely earned tonight. He pulls out of Jon with a groan, and reaches down to push a bit of the come that’s slipped out of him back where it belongs. 

Jon lies there, wet and hot and ruined, and he looks up at Elias while he trembles. 

“What do I do?” Jon asks him, hopelessly. Elias doesn’t pretend to be confused by the question.

“It’s alright, Jon,” he says. He strokes the side of Jon’s face carefully. “You can trust this side of yourself to me.” Jon startles like a wild-eyed animal.

“I… I’m scared,” he whispers, his voice raw, and Elias knows how it hurts him to admit it. 

“Let me give you what you want,” Elias tells him. “Let me take care of it.” And he watches as Jon gives it up for him, opens for him like a flower. Sees the exact moment that Jon relinquishes that last little bit of control to which he had been so desperately clinging. He closes his eyes and his lips go slack and so he doesn’t see Elias shut his eyes too, doesn’t see the shiver that runs through him at his victory. He’s put himself entirely in Elias’s hands. And Elias isn’t going to waste a moment. He eases himself down behind Jon and presses himself against his back. 

“ _ I can show you so many things _ ,” he whispers against the back of Jon’s neck. Jon shudders and twitches as Elias runs fingertips lightly down his spine. Elias presses his lips to Jon’s hairline, and Jon makes a small sound of hopeless want. 

He has no idea, he really has no idea. There’s so much to  _ learn _ . 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has some fun at work.

“Is this really necessary?” Jon asks, furrowing his brow. He hears Elias release a little puff of air, as if he’s laughing at him. 

“Not at all, Jon. I simply want to.” Jon feels like he could almost see the man’s smugness and self-satisfaction radiating off of him in hot, sharpened waves.

“I’m sure you’ve already listened to it on your own,” Jon says quietly, more than a little mortified at the thought of Elias sitting at home, stretched out on that massive bed, slipping the tape into a cassette player and-- 

Well, the thought isn’t any more obscene than anything Elias has already done to him. But it still seems so shockingly intimate, and even a little violating. 

“Yes, and I’m sure that I will again. But I’d like to watch _you_ listen to it, and I’d very much appreciate it if you’d indulge me.” Elias’s breath stirs the hairs at the back of Jon’s neck, and he leans forward to softly press his lips behind Jon’s ear. 

“And why do you want _me_ to listen to it, exactly? I’ve already had to _live_ it,” Jon says irritably, and he leans away from Elias’s lips. Elias sighs deeply. 

“Well, as charming as it is to watch you struggle to keep that wonderful voice to yourself, I’d like you to hear how... lovely you sound. Maybe then you’d be more inclined to share.” On the last word he wraps an arm around Jon and presses his hand against his chest, pushing Jon back up against him. 

“I suspect your little experiment might have the opposite effect,” Jon grumbles.

“Yes, well. Regardless, isn’t it enough that I want you to?” Elias is whispering his words directly into Jon’s ear again. Jon can’t lean away this time, with Elias’s hand still pressing him back. He tries to turn his head as best he can to deny Elias access to that ear. Elias doesn’t see his scowl, but it’s there anyway.

“Well I don’t,” Jon mumbles, convincingly. “Want to.” Elias’s hand travels from Jon’s chest to his chin, and he turns Jon’s head where he wants it and holds it in place.

“Have I steered you wrong yet?” Elias says. “Don’t you like to do as I ask?” He whispers, and he gently sinks his teeth into the shell of Jon’s ear for a moment. 

“ _Fine_ ,” Jon says begrudgingly, and he narrows his eyes. He won’t admit it, but he does.

“Press play, Jon,” Elias tells him, and he puts his hands on Jon’s hips, pulling Jon tight against him there, too. Jon shifts on top of Elias’s thighs, to get as comfortable as he is able like this. Then he takes a deep breath, and he hits the button. 

“Statem- _I can’t do this I can’t do this I c- I c- I c-”_  
  
Jon hears the little gasping, hitching breaths he’d made and he immediately reaches out to turn the tape recorder back off. Elias leans forward and grabs Jon’s wandering hand. He brings it down and presses it between Jon’s legs, where he’s hard.

“Ah, ah, ah. Already, Jon? Surely you can last longer than that,” he chides. Jon tries to flinch away from where Elias has put his hand, but that presses him back against Elias’s erection. He can no more hide from Elias’s excitement for this than he can hide from the pathetic quiver of his own voice on the tape.

“Statement of, _ah_ ! Ellen Choi, regarding an uncomfortable experience at a spa offering f-flotation therapy. _Oh,_ original statement given-- given October 17th, 2012. Audio recording by J… Audio recording by Jon- _ah!_ Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.” 

The last few words produce a sort of verbal blur, and Jon remembers hoping that he would be able to get them all out without further interruption. Back in his office, Elias firmly squeezes his fingers over Jon’s, which presses his hand against his own cock again. Then Elias brings both hands to Jon’s waist to unbuckle his belt and untuck his shirt.

“Statement begins.” 

Jon’s voice is high and almost unrecognizable to his own ears when he says those familiar words. In the very early days of the job, he remembers feeling embarrassed when he played back his recordings to check and make sure that the work he had produced was of quality, and that it was free of any errors. But finding out that his voice was actually higher and more nasal than he had hoped was nothing compared to this humiliation. He didn’t even have the presence of mind to self-consciously pitch his voice down on _this_ tape. 

He didn’t have the presence of mind to do anything else but try and keep coherent while a toy vibrated and buzzed inside of him, he remembers with shame. It was quite a challenge, in those first few paragraphs, when Ellen was introducing herself and explaining how she had made an appointment at a spa for an hour in a float tank. He’s not quite sure what happened as he ventured deeper into the statement, though. But he can’t think any further on that, because Elias’s hand has slipped into his trousers to grip his cock. 

“It was the sensory deprivation that interested me. There was always too much going on in my head; too much _noise_ . I thought that isolation might help me focus my mind. What with school, my job, my family, and everything else, I couldn’t really deal with all the stress and anxiety in my life. I was having trouble sleeping. No, I suppose that I was having trouble _resting_. I thought that maybe with no outside interference or input, and I’d be able to, you know. Relax?”

As they listen together, Elias starts to slowly and gently stroke Jon’s cock. Jon finds himself hitching his hips up in little tiny motions, and angling back to rub against Elias’s too. Jon’s making the smallest, softest noises, but nothing that might drown out his words on the tape. Elias dips his other hand up and under Jon’s shirt, and he runs it up Jon’s side until his fingers come to explore his chest, pinching and rubbing him there. Jon writhes in Elias’s lap a little more, and he sighs with pleasure a little louder.

But as he continues listening to the recording, Jon remembers how bizarre the whole experience was, and how profoundly compelling he had found Ellen’s written statement. He was shocked at the level of empathy it provoked in him, and how touched he was by her plight. He remembers feeling uncomfortable beyond the thing moving maddeningly inside of him, and beyond the knowledge that every high and desperate little sound to pass his lips would be permanently recorded on tape. 

Yes, he remembers how Ellen described her suffering inside the flotation tank in vivid detail, and those details rise in his mind now as he listens to himself recount her words. 

“I _know_ I had only paid for an hour in the tank, but as the minutes wore on it began to feel like I’d been trapped in there for the whole night, or maybe into the next morning. I began to worry that I’d never see anyone again, that I’d be stuck forever without my friends, my family, and everyone I’d ever known. And I was sure, I was _absolutely positive_ that as every second passed by, the water level was rising incrementally.”

As Jon listens to himself describe the slow rising of the water inside the tank, Elias slides a hand up Jon’s chest and curls his fingers around his throat. Jon makes a small sound of surprise, and he remembers how he had felt as if he was in the tank himself while he read about what had happened next.

“The softly glowing lights inside suddenly turned a bright and throbbing red. The gentle seaside sounds that were playing had switched to a constant, ominous droning. The sides of the pod were pressing in and the water had filled the whole tank and the water was in my eyes and the water was in my mouth and the salt of it was burning my lips and my tongue and my throat and my eyes and my lungs.”

It was like Jon had felt all that too. That choking, asphyxiating pressure he had felt when he read about the water and the walls closing in felt horrible. But as he listens to himself recount the details of Ellen’s anguish, Elias begins to apply gentle pressure to his neck. As the words pour quick and panicky out of the recorder, Elias squeezes him harder and harder. And while he does so he pulls Jon’s cock faster and faster. Just as Jon’s vision starts to darken at its edges, and as he starts to tremble and shake in Elias’s grip, Elias releases Jon’s neck and he gasps and chokes. Elias’s fingers trail so softly over where they were enacting such violence but a moment before.

“And then the lid of the pod clicked open and a soft and calming voice announced that my time was up. And just like that the water was normal and the pod was normal and my lungs seemed normal once the thing had let me out. But every time I entered a small and enclosed space after that, whether it was an elevator or an airplane bathroom or a walk-in closet, that space would slowly and inevitably start to fill with water.”

Jon tries to grasp at vague thoughts, and he settles upon a kind of relief that he had managed to keep his voice so steady while he was being tormented by what Elias had forced him to keep inside himself. He remembers how it had moved faster and harder within him the closer he got to the completion of Ellen's story. But everything’s slipping away from him now: his breath, his mind, and his control, because Elias has his hand around his throat again, and is bringing him almost to the edge of unconsciousness and total pleasure yet again. This isn’t the fear and panicked drowning of Ellen’s memories. His mind floats soft as control of his body’s most basic instinct is handed to someone else. Like this he is completely at Elias’s mercy, and _that_ fear feels electric. 

“Statement ends. _Please Elias please let me come_ please!” 

Jon chokes, but not for want of air. It’s like a spell was broken and suddenly the most shameful begging, _his_ shameful begging, fills his ears and his mind. 

“Oh, _Jon_.”

Another voice is heard on the tape, and it’s slightly muffled as if it’s coming from another part of the room.

“Not until you’ve finished.”

Jon can hear how intensely the Elias on the tape is enjoying himself. What’s left of him almost wants Elias to choke him out now, so he won’t have to relive what comes next. 

“It was- this was- _Elias_!”

“No.”

“ _God_ .  It was clearly a case of- of panic, of hysteria, of claustrophobia. There’ve been studies; sensory deprivation c-can cause hallucinations, i-induce temporary experiences that mimic psychosis. Elias _please_!”

“Is that all? Alright.”

This is what Jon hears: some shuffling and some movement over the crackling of the tape; the sound of Elias’s hand working his cock; and the rushing in his ears from the absence of oxygen. He hears himself gasp and he hears Elias hum out his pleasure.

“Elias, don’t, i-it’s still _inside_ \--”

And after that it’s Elias’s heavy breathing behind him and on the tape, it’s his high and desperate whimpers and moans on the recording, it’s Elias’s fingers restricting his airflow and Elias’s fingers constricting his cock. Jon’s sweating all over like he’d just stepped out of the water, and he’s spasming and clenching in Elias’s hands. And just as it feels like he’s about to lose consciousness, that Elias is really going to do it, on one last firm squeeze he comes and comes all over Elias’s long fingers. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jon says, and his voice is wrecked and mangled. He just knows that Elias is smiling.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon accessorizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Martin Friend and I feel compelled to warn them when there's even a soupçon of Martin Harm in these. In case any of you are Martinfriends: there is a soupçon of Martinharm in this.

“...So, what I’m, er, trying to say is that I… is that I was wondering if you’d like to… Jon…? Are you okay?”

“Y-yes, Martin, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Well I was wondering if you’d like to maybe come round to my place again after work?”

“Martin, I--” Jon begins. But just as he starts to answer, he feels that overwhelming, oppressive presence that Elias imposes upon whatever room that he enters. Jon looks past Martin and the man’s eyes meet his own. Jon makes a soft sound and he looks back at Martin.

“I, ah, have to go, actually,” Jon finishes, and he hurries past Martin with as much dignity as he can muster given the circumstances. Elias heads towards the darkened staircase to the library. Jon follows him down.

It’s dark and shadowy in the stacks, and Jon stands before the long rows of shelving in silence as he listens for the sounds of movement that might help him locate his boss. But the huge room is still, and Jon steps forward into the light cast from an elegant fixture on the ceiling to look down the first aisle. But there’s nothing there, and Jon’s the one betraying his position when another little noise slips past his lips. 

He continues his journey into the depths of the library, peering around shelves and down dark rows of old and eclectic books. It’s hard not to get distracted by their strange smells and stranger titles, but there’s a more pressing distraction that overwhelms the urge to reach out and touch their spines. So he continues his search, feeling almost lost in the labyrinthine world of the library.

But soon he finds one shelf that seems to pull at him like a beckoning hand. He can’t explain it yet, but it’s like it’s exerting some magnetic force that draws him forward. Jon scans the shelving briefly but just as the shelf itself seemed to call to him, a specific spine catches his eye. It’s green and gilt and it’s adorned with some arcane sigils with which Jon is admittedly unfamiliar. He peers harder into the darkness to try and identify an author or a title. It’s hard to see so he stands on his toes and he reaches up to grab it, wanting a closer look at the golden concentric circles that look almost like--

“Looking for something?” The voice is low and sinister and right by his ear, because he’s suddenly been shoved bodily against the shelf. His reaching hand has been pinned above him by the wrist, and now solid heat is pressed up against his back. Jon makes a hot sound of surprise and of excitement and he presses his hips back against Elias’s. 

“ _ Mmn, _ ” he moans in assent. 

“You’re very sensitive today,” Elias says, as he continues to roll his body against Jon’s. Jon moves with him as he tries to keep every part of them pressed together. “Whatever’s the matter, Jon?”

Jon can only whimper and gasp, because the hand that’s not keeping him pinned to the bookshelf has begun to wander. It’s moved up his chest to play with him there, and moved down to his waist to unbuckle his belt. When it slides under his waistband to grab his hard cock, he yelps, high and embarrassing. 

“So very sensitive,” Elias says again. “Hmm?” He rubs Jon slow for a bit while he sucks on his earlobe and gently bites his neck. Jon can’t stop rubbing his hips back against Elias’s on every stroke. But soon those clever fingers release him and begin to travel up his hip and around his body. Now Jon tries to flinch away, but of course he can’t, not with Elias pressed firmly up against him like this. There’s nothing he can do to stop Elias’s hand from squeezing him before moving his fingers to Jon’s hole.

“ _ Oh _ . Oh  _ Jon _ ,” Elias says, in wonder. “What a surprise. Is this for me?” And Elias is tracing his fingers around the base of the plug that’s buried inside of him. Jon cries out and his hips twitch forward, but Elias keeps his fingers on the toy and the movement pulls at his rim. “Delicious,” Elias breathes, and he pushes and pulls the plug slowly and in increments. As much as he doesn’t want that awareness, Jon knows that Elias is watching its thickest part hold him open and stretch him wide. Then Elias keeps fucking him deeply and Jon presses his sweaty forehead against the shelf in front of him and he tries to keep quiet.

“Elias,  _ please _ ,” he whispers, and he hopelessly tries to collect himself enough to try and know exactly what it is he’s begging for. For Elias to let him go, for Elias to keep going? For Elias to empty him out and put his own cock in him instead? Jon is vaguely aware of Elias’s breathing getting heavier behind him, and is acutely aware of the slow pull of the plug out of him. Jon whimpers when it’s at its widest point, but then the thing is out of him and he’s open and exposed. Elias takes a moment to urge Jon out of his trousers and then he guides Jon’s hands back to the bookshelf. He eases Jon’s legs wide and he steps back, presumably to have a look at the depraved spectacle he’s made of himself.

“Look at that, oh, look at  _ that _ ,” Elias says, and Jon is so glad that he doesn’t have to right now. “Just perfect,” he says, and Jon turns to try and scowl at him, but he’s sure that his face does something entirely different when Elias’s fingers come to play with his open, wet hole. “They go in so easily,” Elias tells him quietly. That’s two, by Jon’s count, and he whimpers into his forearm. They find that place inside him as surely as they ever do and they rub and press in a way that makes him want to scream. He bites his arm instead, and it comes out as more of a sob. 

Elias slips in a third finger, Jon knows, and then he leans in to press a soft kiss to Jon’s cheek. There’s something unbearable about that, so when he feels Elias start to push in with a fourth he turns his head to slide Elias’s lips against his own. Then there’s the soft sounds he’s making that Elias swallows down, and the occasional response from Elias whenever Jon can’t help but clench down around his fingers. But mostly there’s the matching wet sounds of Elias’s tongue licking into him and his fingers taking him apart. When Jon really starts to push his hips back against him, Elias gently pulls out.

Elias’s strong hands grab Jon’s hips and he spreads Jon’s legs until he’s right where he wants him. When Elias rubs the head of his cock against Jon’s desperately clenching hole he reaches around to tilt Jon’s head right back to look up at him. 

“You’re filthy,” Elias tells him, and then he pushes inside. Elias fucks him like that for a while, slow and hard and deep. Jon tries to keep his voice down, but it’s so very hard with Elias inside of him like this. And just when he’s almost forgotten  _ why  _ it is he needs to be quiet, the sound of footsteps start to echo around his mind like they’ve been pushed inside his skull. Jon freezes up immediately.

“ _ Stop _ ,” he whispers, and Elias doesn’t. “Elias,” he chokes out. “Someone might be  _ here _ .” 

“Yes, Jon, that’s certainly true,” Elias says, his voice tight. “Not everyone’s gone home for the night quite yet.” 

“Yes, that’s why you should--” Jon tries to wrench himself from Elias’s grip, but he just holds Jon tight and keeps himself buried as deep as he can inside of him. 

“Should I?” Elias whispers cruelly, and this time he pulls Jon’s head back by his hair. The start of Jon’s loud moan slips out before he can shut his stupid mouth, and Elias continues to speak quietly to him. “When you’re this tight around me when you think about someone walking by?”

“What? No--” Jon starts, but Elias’s hand is around Jon’s cock and he can surely feel it twitch at his words. Elias grinds against him and strokes him very slowly.

“You’d really like me to stop?” Elias asks him. “When anyone could come back here and see you spread and open and all filled up with me?” Jon whimpers. Elias continues. “Do you want them to see you? Tim, Martin, Sasha? Do you really?” Jon screws his eyes shut but he can’t keep the images from his mind. “And what will they do when they see you, hm? Will they be surprised to see you like this? Will they tell you how wanton and sluttish you are, how you’re moaning like a whore for them? Or will they see how easy you’ve become and want to use you like the hole you are?”

Jon comes then, long and hard. Elias wrings every drop of his orgasm out of him before he pulls his cock out and he pushes Jon to the floor. He cups Jon’s jaw with one hand and takes his cock in hand with the other. He holds Jon’s face there like that while he jacks himself quickly, and Jon is entranced by the eyes boring into his own, pinning him there on his knees. 

Elias slides his hand from the side of Jon’s face across his jaw to his chin, where he takes it between his thumb and his fingers. He slips his thumb over Jon’s lower lip and pulls it down a little. Jon drops his mouth open, and Elias comes on him. It makes Jon flinch a little when the drops land on his lips and his cheeks and jaw. But Elias pushes the come that’s fallen on Jon’s lips around and into his mouth. Jon knows he’s supposed to slide his tongue out and clean off Elias’s fingers, so he does. He can’t understand why sucking the fingers inside his mouth feels so good and so right when the sensory experience is less than pleasant. But he keeps going until they’re clean. 

“Debauched,” Elias says fondly, when he looks down on him. Then he pulls his fingers from Jon’s mouth, and he’s left dazed and blinking on his knees. He watches quietly as Elias pulls his pocket square from his jacket and cleans the rest of Jon’s face up. He drops the handkerchief in Jon’s lap when he’s done with it, and then he slides his fingers into Jon’s hair. He jerks his head back so that Jon’s forced to look at him again.

“Stay right there,” Elias tells him. “Don’t move.” Jon doesn’t.

When Elias returns, and Jon doesn’t have the slightest idea of how long he’s been gone, he has a small black box in his hands. Jon allows him to draw the collar out of the box, push down his turtleneck, and affix it about his throat. 

“Mm, there we are,” Elias says. Jon runs his fingers around it curiously, and they come to rest on a smooth tag that hangs from a ring. 

“It’s… blank?” Jon says, and he raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you aren’t falling over yourself to make your mark on me.” He thinks about the reason he selected this particular shirt this morning: the purple bruises that now hide beneath the collar.

“Are you really so desperate to be owned, Jon? A ‘Property of the Magnus Institute’ stamp, perhaps?” Elias jokes. Jon shoves the concept out of his mind as hard and as fast as he possibly can.

“Well I’m neither a book from the library nor an object from the Archives. I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he says, probably a little more seriously than the comment warranted. 

“Indeed you aren’t,” Elias says, and he strokes Jon’s face and sighs. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your engraving in good time. Anyway, it doesn’t truly matter. After all, you  _ are  _ mine, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Yes, I… I suppose I am,” Jon concedes. His face is burning and he can’t meet Elias’s eyes anymore.

“Good. Now,” Elias says, and Jon can see that he’s hard again where he’s zipped himself back into his trousers. He picks up Jon’s discarded plug and regards it with a raised eyebrow. “This needs to go back where it belongs.” He smiles. “But I think I’ll give you something to keep plugged up inside you first,” he says, and he pulls his cock out again. 

***

“Oh, Jon! There you are,” says Martin. “I just had a, er, a question for you before I went home for the night.” Jon realizes Martin’s looking at him a little strangely. He’s glad he can’t see himself through Martin’s eyes. He can’t imagine what he looks like right now. Just in case, he raises his hands to make double sure that his collar obscures his… his  _ collar _ .

“Y-yes, Martin?” he asks him. 

“Oh, you. You have a little…” Martin reaches up to wipe something from high on Jon’s cheekbone. Jon flinches, and that momentum carries him backwards and away and towards the washrooms before he can find out what it was that Martin wanted. 

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias wins.

Elias has taken Jon back to his flat again. He does this more often than not, after work. Jon still insists that they leave the Institute separately, or that they wait until everyone else has gone for the night before they head home. It’s certainly amusing that Jon still insists on clinging to his notions of propriety and...  _ decorum  _ is one of those words that Elias often stumbles upon when he reaches inside of Jon’s mind. As if Jon still had a claim to decency when he’s made their bed into a shrine to depravity. After Elias worships him there tonight, perhaps Jon will finally realize exactly what it is that he’s become.

Elias begins to unravel him, to strip away all of Jon’s protective layers to reveal the twisted core of him, in front of the mirror. 

Jon had claimed that he had a bit of a cold today when they had asked him why he had worn a scarf to work. Elias slides it off him slowly and when it catches a little against Jon’s throat he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. Elias drops it to the ground and gazes upon that lovely collar, that wonderful mark of ownership that’s peeking out from Jon’s shirt. He sinks his fingers into Jon’s hair and gently tugs his head to the side so he can softly rub his lips where the edge meets Jon’s skin. Jon trembles and he sighs.

“Open,” Elias whispers, and Jon parts his lips and his legs. His eyes open too and he hopes that he’s obeyed Elias’s command to his satisfaction. “Very good,” Elias tells him, to show that he has. Jon needs to watch this, Elias knows. He needs to see what Elias sees, even if it’s just in the normal human way for now. Elias reaches around Jon to undo the top buttons of his shirt, and he gently strokes Jon’s exposed collarbones with his fingertips. Jon leans into him with his whole body.

“ _ Can we go to the bed? _ ” Jon whispers, and how ready and eager those words sound sends a little thrill down Elias's spine.

“No, Jon,” Elias replies, as he undoes a few more buttons. “Not yet.” He opens Jon’s shirt to expose his chest. “ _ Watch _ .”

Jon tries to turn his face away as Elias puts his fingers on the golden bars that go through Jon’s nipples. He pulls and twists at them where Jon’s still a little aching and sore. When Jon keeps his eyes from the mirror, Elias pinches them cruelly. Jon cries out.

“I believe that I asked you to watch,” Elias says calmly, against Jon’s neck. Jon can’t seem to meet his own eyes, let alone Elias’s, so he drops them to where Elias is tormenting him with his hands. Elias will allow it, for now.

When he’s content with the pitch and the volume of Jon’s little whimpers, he releases the piercings and Jon gasps in relief. Elias leaves a kiss on his jaw as a reward. 

When Elias finishes with the rest of the buttons on Jon’s shirt and undoes his cuffs, he pushes it from Jon’s shoulders and off of him. He divests him of everything else while he’s at it, until all of Jon is on display for him. 

It’s incredible, the work he’s done and has yet to do. On the one hand, Jon’s flesh is like a canvas barely filled. So much of him is undamaged and immaculate, but Elias knows that their journey will not leave the man intact. He cannot begin to imagine the ways in which Jon will be warped for their God, or how the marks will manifest. For now he can only see the damage that his own two hands have wrought.

There’s the fresh holes he’s put in him, yes, that leave him sensitive and raw. There are the purpling marks about his neck that the collar barely hides. There are the indentations his teeth have made in the soft places on the insides of his thighs. And there are the marks on his wrists that Elias now rubs from when he’d tied Jon tight to ensure his obedience. Elias was conscious of Jon’s eyes following the journey of his own as they catalogued the claims he’s staked upon his body. But now they’ve reached Jon’s face, and Jon looks there too.

He sees the exhaustion in Jon’s eyes, and as long as time exists, Elias can’t very well keep him awake and screaming out his pleasure until morning. But he’s seen how Jon tortures himself at night, first with his hands and then with his mind as he stubbornly insists on flagellating himself for his indulgence and his need. Elias smiles to himself when he imagines how he could help Jon with that in a more literal sense. He feels the fear radiating from Jon from merely seeing that expression upon his face. 

And so he pets Jon’s sides as if to soothe him. He trails his fingers down where Jon’s ribs show through his skin. He’s so slim now, and Elias knows he doesn’t eat for pleasure; only to fulfil his body’s basic needs. And while it might not be food, Elias’s smile widens as he thinks about how he’ll keep feeding Jon until he’ll be helpless to deny himself, just as he is helpless to deny  _ this _ . Soon he’ll have him starving.

And even when his body is hidden from the world, Elias has had him irrevocably altered. He knows that everyone’s noticed how Jon dresses now, and the way that he looks. How even his hair and the way he shaves have become different for Elias, to fit his tastes. On occasion, Elias will even notice a change in the cadence with which he speaks. Or at the very least, in the way that he thinks. Elias has seen it all in his head.

He compares all this to how Jon first appeared before him, once, his mind there for the taking to push and pull and mold into his tool, but first his toy. Well, Jon may have pushed back a little himself, but what was life without its little challenges? He came to Elias buttoned down and cold and proper and wound as tight as can be, and now he’s writhing in Elias’s arms, rubbing hot and hungry against him and watching his own debasement reflected back at him in the mirror.

“The bed, Elias,” Jon pleads.

“No, I don't think so. Not tonight. Unless you’d like to move to the window?” Elias asks.

“Mirror, the mirror,” Jon manages, and Elias considers the threat of such exposure as a future punishment. Next time, perhaps. Now Elias just puts his hand around Jon’s cock and strokes it gently. 

“You wouldn’t like to see? You don’t want to see how perfect you look for me?” Elias asks him. Jon’s response is muffled, because Elias has slipped a couple of fingers between his lips. It comes out as a moan as he sucks on them, gets them wet. But Jon _is_ perfect, perfect like he made him, perfect like he molded him from pure and untouched clay. Clay that was begging to be sculpted, that was begging to be _used_. Elias pulls his fingers from Jon’s mouth and slips one inside his hole instead. 

“No,” Jon moans, now that his mouth’s free to speak. Elias knows that isn’t true, but he can’t tell him that quite yet. He so desperately wants to show Jon how he  _ really  _ sees him. But as much as he burns to ask Jon  _ if he’d like to know exactly how he looks like this _ , he’ll simply have to wait. For now he’ll just grab Jon’s hair and push his face up against the mirror, and fuck him with his fingers while he does it. But before he can add a second one, Jon asks him to  _ stop _ . Elias dips inside of him to see what the matter is, and he marvels at what he finds.

Jon doesn’t want to explain why. He doesn’t even want to ask it of Elias, what it is he’s wanting. He doesn’t want to dirty him with his desires.

“You’d like it to hurt,” Elias whispers, and all Jon has to do in response is moan. For a moment, Elias can see Jon’s face in the mirror contort in confusion, and Jon thinks that he’s sure he’s never mentioned such a thing out loud before. But Elias pulls his finger from inside of Jon and turns him around. He presses him back against the mirror and he pushes his tongue into Jon’s mouth, and he kisses him until all thoughts slip from his mind.

“ _ Jon _ ,” Elias says against his lips. “ _ Really _ . I’m surprised at you,” he admonishes, because it amuses him to do so.

“Elias, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s--” Jon cuts himself off with a little sob, and inside he’s berating himself. He knew he should never have let Elias know of his depraved desires, he  _ knew  _ Elias would be disgusted when he learned of them-- 

“ _ Shh _ , Jon, hush,” Elias says, and he takes Jon’s hand in his own and lifts it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “It’s alright. You’re such a sweet, perfect little whore, and you just can’t help it,” he tells him, and Jon sobs again, not quite in relief. “Now, tell me what you’d like,” he asks patiently. 

“Please,  _ please, _ Elias, whatever you want,” Jon says desperately. Elias brings his hand up to gently rest his palm against Jon’s cheek. 

“No, it’s what  _ you  _ want, Jon,” Elias says, and Jon shuts his eyes and turns his head to kiss the tips of Elias’s fingers. 

“I-I want you...” Jon starts quietly.

“Yes?” Elias says. And he expects to have to goad Jon, to have to push him towards submission, but it all comes out of him so fast and so hot that Elias finds himself a little thrown.

“I want you to fuck me, t-to use me, to hold me down and hurt me, I w- I want,” Jon tells him, unable to finish. Elias takes a long, slow breath. 

“Ah. Do you know you might be right?” Elias says tightly. “Bed.” Jon nods helplessly and stumbles towards the bed and he lays himself out, somehow both daring and demure in his attitude and his pose. 

“No, not like that,” Elias says, and he raises one eyebrow significantly. It takes a moment, but soon he watches as Jon drags himself up to his hands and knees, facing the mirror. “Wonderful.” Elias positions himself behind Jon and frees his cock from his trousers. He slicks himself up a little and presses in just like that, and Jon cries out and clenches around him.

“And how does that feel, Jon?” Elias asks him, quiet and clinical.

“I-it,” Jon starts, gasping as Elias drives in deep. “Hurts, it hurts,” he says, and he moans. 

“But you like it,” Elias says, and it’s not a question but a reminder when he grabs Jon’s cock and starts to stroke it in time with his thrusts. Elias fucks Jon like that for a while, gripping him by the hair and pulling his head up hard to make him look in the mirror to see what happens to him when Elias takes him apart like this. He’s flushed and sweaty and his lips are parted as he pants and gasps with Elias inside of him. And just when Elias sees that Jon is about to come, he pulls his cock from him. Jon just about screams. 

“Mm?” Elias makes a breathless sound of curiosity while he jacks his cock behind Jon. He looks into the mirror and Jon looks back with eyes so wide and wet in their desperation. “What is it, Jon?” Elias rubs the head of his cock against Jon’s hole, but whenever Jon pushes back against him Elias leans away. “What do you need?” He knows Jon will be nothing but honest with him now.

“Elias, I… I need your cock, I can’t be me without it, I need you inside of me,” he says.  _ More than my job and my pride and my sanity,  _ he thinks. “I’m... I’m yours. Whatever you want me to be. I’m  _ for you _ .”

“Can’t be you?” Elias repeats, gripping the base of his cock tight with one hand and holding Jon’s hips away from him with the other. “Then what are you, when I’m not inside of you?” he asks him.

“ _ E-empty _ ,” Jon practically sobs. “Nothing.” 

Elias holds the reflection of Jon’s gaze in the mirror and he pushes himself in on one hard thrust, and their moans match. He fucks into Jon as hard as he is able, and he’s not even sure himself of the obscenities that fly from his lips. With every thrust he whispers to Jon that he’s  _ his slut, his whore, his toy for his use and for his pleasure, his, his,  _ his _ ,  _ and he comes like that, as deep into Jon as he possibly can. 

And Jon’s coming too, clenching and gasping and never breaking contact with Elias’s eyes. Elias pulls out of him and turns him over and looks at the mess he’s made of this man, how he’s ruined him completely, and he leans down and he kisses him for a very, very long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering where this could POSSIBLY go after this, the answer is a self-indulgent little epilogue. Stay tuned!


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonah muses.

Jonah Magnus has a little ritual, of sorts. 

After so many years of reading and researching and preparing for the rituals of others, he supposes that it’s only fair that he has one of his own. And he’s allowed himself to indulge in it a little more often, the closer he gets to the completion of his life’s work. While there may be a little more time yet before he can claim his ultimate victory-- his ultimate success-- it certainly doesn’t hurt to be prepared for when that day comes.

He very much wants to be able to dedicate the afternoon in its entirety to this little indulgence, so he rises early and takes the morning to make sure he’s satisfied with the paperwork that he’s brought home with him for the weekend. Then he treats himself to a light lunch at the charming little place around the corner from his flat. He sips wine at his usual table in the corner while he gazes out the window, and he smiles to himself when he thinks about his plans for the remainder of his day. A passerby on the road catches his eye and she smiles, too. His enthusiasm must be infectious.

When he returns to his study, he makes sure that everything is just so. He makes himself a strong cup of tea, turns on his expensive sound system, clears his space of the day’s work, selects his very favourite pen, and sits down at his desk. As gentle piano music falls upon his ears like raindrops in the spring , he taps his pen against his papers twice, and he begins to write.

He’s content to take his time with his words; it will be a while before he has enough information with which to complete his statement. But while he cannot yet write of events to come, he can most certainly focus on those things that have happened a very, very long time ago. He wants his wording to be precise, exact, and perfect. After all, he only has one chance to pen the words that will end the world.

As he writes, he thinks about Jon. 

He thinks about how Jon will feel when he reads those words, and after. He thinks about how Jon will feel in the days and weeks to come, when he learns certain truths about the depth and the breadth of Jonah’s power. He puts his pen down at that thought. Those are enough lines for this afternoon. He’ll revisit his words to pare down and prune them another day.

Yes, very soon he will no longer be able to keep the extent of his meddling with Jon’s mind from him. The more that Jon learns and knows and sees, the more he will begin to question what’s grown organically in his head, and what seeds were sown there by an outside force. Whether he’ll be able to track the exact trajectory of his fall, or find only the fingerprints Jonah had left behind where he handled him, certainly remains opaque.

Would he be able to identify every scalding dream with which Jonah had gifted him? Would he be able to tease out every authentic thought and feeling from the tangle of experiences that had been carefully placed inside of him? Jonah can’t imagine that any man would be capable of divining the little thoughts and ideas put inside the heads of others that served to further tug Jon down the inevitable path upon which he’s been placed.

Jonah sighs. He’ll by necessity lose Jon like that, for a while. He’ll lose Jon’s trust and his body while he tries to reassert control over his mind. Someone else will step in, no doubt; Martin’s certainly never given up his attempts to try. But Jon will still require his guidance-- at the Institute if not in his bed-- and that will be enough, for a time.

Jonah leans back in his chair. All of that will be a blow, he knows. Realizing the degree to which Jon’s destiny was wrenched from his own grip will no doubt shake the core of him. But what will be sweeter still will be the moment in which Jonah is reunited with his Archive at the end of all things.

It’s one thing to finally see one’s own violation, and the ultimate manipulation of one’s mind. It’s another thing entirely to understand that the violator is the man who destroyed the world.

When Jon finally confronts him, alone or perhaps with whatever remains of his staff, how might that feel? Jonah often finds his thoughts edging towards such scenarios on the days that he works on his statement. He tries to approach them from different angles every time; where and how and when they meet, and with whom. But his imaginings always take on the same approximate shape.

It would be a lovely reunion if Jon came to him alone, but perhaps all the more delicious if Martin was there to bear witness to the unfolding of events. Jonah could walk them through those early moments that they had had together where he had intervened. He could watch their faces as he asks Jon if he could remember what he was like,  _ who _ he was, before they had ever met. He could easily help Jon out if he’s forgotten. He could easily supply him with an image, so clear, of how he was before.

Yes, when Jon finally finds him on his throne overlooking his kingdom, Jonah will remind him that it was not just fear upon which he gorged himself; not just terror that he couldn’t help but hungrily drink down. But Jon’s dismantling fed their God as well: his fear of his own loss of control and of his impropriety; of being found out by the others; of being fired; of Jonah using his knowledge of Jon against him even when he wasn't aware of how much knowledge that truly was.

But more than anything there was Jon’s fear of finally being known, of finally being  _ seen  _ down to the very core of him, when Jonah plucked fantasies from his mind and played them out perfect. In all of this, the Eye rejoiced. 

Jonah imagines Jon’s face when all of him is laid bare again, but at the end of the world and at Jonah’s feet. Would he fall to the ground, and would tears fall from those sublime eyes? 

And then what?

Would he be able to find the strength to rise and fight and end Jonah for everything he’s done? Or would the cracks running through him finally make him shatter? Could he fall back into Martin’s waiting arms, to the man who could never hurt him the way he needs? Or would he fall forward, Jonah there to catch him, Jonah there to take him back. To give him all he had been missing and more, because at the end of all things, Jonah will be waiting for Jon, who was prepared for him. 

All that, of course, remains to be seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My biggest thank you ever first of all to my Crew for their ideas, suggestions, edits, advice, support, and enthusiasm. Also to everyone who’s read this once or even many times, everyone who’s left kudos or extra kudos, those of you who leave comments on every chapter, or just one chapter, or who initiate conversations with other commenters. Thanks as well to my twitter moots who’ve engaged me in conversations that have inspired many of the ideas explored herein as well. This is my first ever intentionally multi-chaptered work that I’ve planned and executed, so all of your support really helped to keep me going. Thanks again for going on this despicable little journey with me!


End file.
